


I Was Afraid When I Met You

by GhostGarrison



Series: 'I Was Afraid...' Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Acephobia, Asexuality, M/M, Misunderstandings, Social Anxiety, dealing with sexuality, no actual sex scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:10:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGarrison/pseuds/GhostGarrison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam, a second year pre-Law student at Stanford, meets a strange but interesting guy at ‘Party Man’ Gabriel’s house party, and decides he wants to get to know him more. Castiel is a Media & Film studies major whose passion for movies is nearly overwhelming. They’re an unlikely pair with an unlikely relationship. After revealing something he’s kept hidden from Sam, Castiel has a deep fear of rejection but Sam is determined to make it work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Was Afraid When I Met You

It’s a Saturday night, and the large two story college house on Campus Drive—running along the edge of campus—is brightly lit and full of life. Nearly every other weekend, one of Stanford’s most wild parties is hosted by ‘that party guy,’ otherwise known as Gabriel to the usual crowd. More or less, the entire campus is invited, but only a few hundred show up over the course of the night. It’s a ‘bring everyone you know’ shindig and it definitely isn’t Sam’s usual Saturday night scene.

Earlier that evening, Sam’s friend Brady burst through the door of their shared dormitory room and proclaimed they were going out for the night. He tried to protest, saying he had homework, but Brady corralled him into presentable party-going clothes—consisting of a clean plaid button down shirt and jeans—and they walked across campus with a group of people.

In the house, there are students everywhere, holding drinks and food, standing in every available room, piled onto the couches, and dancing outside on the grass to music played by loudspeakers perched precariously on the the roof. 

From his spot leaning up against the wall in the front hallway, Sam can spot Brady talking to a pretty brunette across the room, under the archway connecting the kitchen and the living room area. He thinks he can remember her from their Constitutional Law class, but he isn’t sure. He looks around the room some more; it’s a sea of unfamiliar faces of students who vary from a year below him to several years above him, even some alumni who haven’t moved away from campus yet.

“Sam!” A cheerful female voice calls through the loud chatter. He sees Rebecca’s bright blonde hair among the crowd before she appears before him. “You having fun?” she asks, smiling warmly and shoving a red plastic cup full of beer into his hand in exchange for his empty one.

He accepts it and takes a sip quickly. “Yeah. This party is, uh, pretty busy.”

“Yeah, but it’s the best on campus!” She smiles, looking out into the large living room full of people before turning back to him. “You haven’t been to one of Party Man’s parties, have you?”

Sam chuckles a little at the nickname and wonders how many titles Gabriel had that have the word ‘party’ in them. “No, just haven’t had the time. Studying and my job, you know?”

“Sure, Mr. Straight-As,” she teased, sipping at her red cup of undoubtedly spiked punch. “But everyone needs to relax and have a good time every once in awhile, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Sam agrees half-heartedly. Really, he was more focused on his grades, keeping his scholarship, and making sure he’s in a good position to get a good scholarship to a graduate program, hopefully in criminal law.

“Have you been talking to anyone?” Rebecca eyes him with friendly concern, but her words sound a little like an accusation. “You looked all sorts of lonely over here, and I could sense it from upstairs!”

“A few people,” he lies. Most people in the room a hammered, and Sam just wasn’t into the party scene as much as everyone else was, nor talking to drunken strangers when he wasn’t equally as smashed. He’s there for his education—which is free as long as he can keep his grades up—not partying, like a majority of students attending the party probably are.

However, Becky seems to see through his lie and tries a different tactic.

“You should try the kitchen,” she suggests, nodding towards the next room over. “Usually people are a little more mellow in there. And there’s food and stuff, though it’s all junk food. But what else do you expect, huh?”

“Right,” Sam says, flashing a weak smile at her. He is happy to be out with friends, even if they’re not all together at the moment, but this isn’t exactly how he pictures spending his Saturday night. His job at Ellen’s bar and restaurant is four days a week, and usually he uses his spare days off for catching up on sleep, studying, or relaxing.

Becky recognizes some people near the door, who have obviously just arrived late, fashionably or otherwise. She smiles at Sam one last time before squeezing his arm and brushing past him. Sam watches her rush up to the people at the door and give them hugs before he decides to head to the kitchen.

Becky would hunt him down again if he didn’t take her suggestion.

Sam works his way through throngs of people, trying not to get beer or punch accidentally spilled on him on the way. He doesn’t know how this many people could fit in a house, and he’s halfway tempted to make an estimate on how many people are attending the party, using math, geometry and statistics. Brady and the brunette are nowhere to be seen, and Sam can only hope that Brady has half a mind to go to her dorm room for the night and not theirs.

As it turns out, Becky is right. The kitchen is a lot less crowded, and people are calmly seated around the central island, as well as leaning against the counters. The chatter is a lot more low-key and quiet, as people are snacking and avoiding the main body of the party crowd flooding through the rest of the house.

His eyes skim the kitchen island’s granite countertop to examine the snacks. It’s the usual party stuff—chips and dip, sandwiches, different party mixes with different tupperware containers that look like they were brought by other people, several punch bowls filled with dubious-looking liquid, but it’s the wide assortment of brightly-colored candy and high-end sweets that seem out of place.

Glancing around the room, Sam doesn’t spot anyone he recognizes, but he didn’t really expect to, since the party was meant for basically anyone at Stanford. Sam didn’t know many people outside of his pre-law classes or his friends in his weekly Wednesday study group. He knows he should probably try to meet new people and make new friends, but he has always found it difficult to do so growing up and college didn’t feel much different so he rarely tries.

He decides to settle at the kitchen table—a large oak table tucked into a tiny circular alcove off the side of the kitchen, probably serving as simply a breakfast nook in the massive house. The table barely fits in the space provided, but it is nicely out of the way of people filing in and out of the kitchen for food and drink.

With the house this packed, it’s surprising that there’s only one other person seated at the table for six. The other occupant is a guy with messy dark hair, blue eyes, and possibly two day old stubble and is seated across the table from Sam. He looks about the same age, but he’s dressed in clothes far too formal for the party and nearly a decade too old for him—a worn trench coat is hanging off the back of the chair, and he’s wearing black pants and a tucked-in white shirt and loose blue tie.

The guy doesn’t seem to notice Sam as he slides onto a chair in the alcove; he’s too busy being absorbed in a super thick green book in his hands. Sam recognizes the cover as an older edition of _Les Misérables_ , and he spies the white sticker from the library on the spine.

He still pays Sam no heed, and turns the pages in the book, one after another, reading at a speed that Sam can’t even begin to comprehend. He begins to wonder if the guy came to the party and got bored or if he always reads at them, or maybe he’s just so far behind on classwork he brought it with him.

Sam lounges in his seat, sipping at his beer casually, and observes the kitchen from a distance. People wander in and out periodically, either to get punch or or beer or snacks or to snag someone out of the room. But the black-haired man just keeps reading, and Sam finds himself paying more attention to him than to the people in the kitchen.

“So,” Sam starts but then stops himself, wondering what the hell he was going to say to this guy. Bright blue eyes are turned on him, and the man lowers his book ever so slightly, looking over the top. Quickly, Sam stumbles through his limited knowledge on the book, having read it in junior year of high school. “ _‘There is nothing like a dream to create the future.’_ ”

The man raises his eyebrows, and his sharp eyes focus on Sam. “ _‘Tomorrow we'll discover what our God in Heaven has in store.’_ ” the stranger says with a husky voice Sam isn’t expecting at all.

Sam scrambles to think of another quote from the overly-long book, thinking back to his posterboard for his AP World Literature presentation from high school, covered in quotes cut out and glued to the edges. “ _‘Life's great happiness is to be convinced we are loved.’_ ”

The man’s expression softens, and Sam swears he sees the smallest evidence of a smile flash across his chapped pink lips. He puts his book down and holds out his hand, quite formally. “Castiel,” he introduces himself.

Sam takes his hand—slightly smaller than his own but still broad and slender—into his own and shakes it. “Sam,” he replies. Their fingers linger over each other for a moment before Castiel snatches his hand away.

“I take it that you’ve read _Les Misérables_?” Castiel asks, flipping a gold ribbon over the spine and tucking it into the pages to mark his spot before setting the brick-like book on the table between them.

“In high school, yeah.”

“That is quite impressive,” Castiel remarks, actually looking a little impressed and not just saying it for Sam’s benefit.

“It was definitely a difficult read, but worth the trouble,” Sam says, remembering how many weeks it took him to read it, how many pages he wrote on it, and the high score he received on his final paper and project.

Castiel laughs softly and Sam catches a small flash of white teeth as he smiles for a fraction of a second. “Not many people think it’s ‘ _worth the trouble.’_ ”

“Yeah?” Sam raises his eyebrows. “I’m not most people,” he challenges back out of habit before realizing how stupid it sounds.

Castiel laughs for real now, and it’s a low grumble of a laugh that has Sam captured. “Oh, really?” he asks, leaning on his right arm on the table. “Well then, Sam,” they lock gazes as Sam’s name rolls off his tongue, “what else about you is special?”

“I, uh,” Sam stops to think. _I can hotwire a car in under twenty seconds. I can shoot a rifle with the aim of a trained soldier. I’ve never stayed in one spot for more than four months until I came to Stanford._ No.

“Nothing,” he says lamely, slumping a little in his chair. Sam is disappointed in himself for not being interesting enough to have even the most casual conversations. His eyes dart away in embarrassment and he tries to play it off as looking around for someone or something in the kitchen.

Castiel sits back in his chair, moving his head from side to side, flexing his neck and shoulders. His eyes are still focused on Sam and he braces his hands on both sides of his book. “Now, I don’t think I can believe that.”

Sam’s grip on his beer cup lightens, and his eyes meet Castiel’s unblinking ones. His stare is almost unnerving as it bores through Sam like a drill.

“Stanford, correct?”

“What?”

Castiel shakes his head and asks again. “You’re a student attending Stanford?”

“Oh, yeah.” Sam sips at his beer again. “Second year.”

“Really? I am a second year, as well.”

Sam is somewhat surprised. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he feels like Castiel should have been older, even though he looks around the same age. Perhaps it’s the stiff business clothes.

“Though I probably will be graduating in three years, unless I add a second major,” Castiel continues his thought like it isn’t a big deal.

Now Sam really is surprised. Graduating that early? At _Stanford_? “Wh-what’s your major?”

“Film and Media Studies,” Castiel says, before adding with a bored tone, “with a minor in Philosophy.”

“Interesting combo.”

“And what about you, then?” His tone has changed, becoming more interested. Castiel sits forwards in his chair, bright eyes focusing on Sam. “What are your studies?”

Sam rattles off his majors like practiced, because he swears every single person he meets asks him this same question. “Political science, with a minor in English.”

“I’m guessing you want to apply for law school,” Castiel comments. The hand not bracing his chin against the table is absently fiddling with the cover of his book.

“What?” Sam nearly chokes on his beer. _‘Is this guy a mind reader?’_

“Those two departments, especially in combination with each other, are the classic go-tos for law school applicants.”

“Oh.” Now he seems less mystical, but definitely smart. Castiel doesn’t respond, so Sam tries to pick up the conversation, realizing he’d rather just talk one-on-one with someone than try to enjoy the party, which he has nearly forgotten about. “So, where are you from?”

Castiel cocks his head a little to the side, looking intently at Sam. “I’m from Los Angeles. And you?”

Sam realizes it was a bad question to ask, since he should have known that it would be asked back. He doesn’t quite have a home, and hadn’t for years since his father decided they’d live on the road after their mother died in a house fire when he was little. “Lawrence, Kansas,” he answers simply, feeling content that it’s not a lie. Not really.

“You’re quite far from home.”

 _‘You don’t know the half of it,’_ Sam thinks. “Needed a change of scenery, you know? That and it was a great opportunity.”

“I agree. Why is it you came to Stanford?”

“This feels like another admittance interview,” Sam comments stiffly, trying to make it sound like a joke but failing miserably.

Castiel shakes his head. “I’m only curious. There are probably a dozen of other schools you could have gone to. Perhaps even better ones on the east coast, closer to home.”

“Scholarships, mainly. Stanford offered up the most money, and they have a great law school,” Sam says. “So,... yeah. You?”

“I have a scholarship, as well.” Sam nods, feeling happy that Castiel isn’t just another rich kid whose parents are paying for everything. “That, and my brother goes here, and he was quite convincing,” Castiel adds a little scathingly.

“Your brother?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Gabriel, you _might_ know him,” he says, with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Sam’s eyes widen. “What? _The_ Gabriel? _‘Party Man’_ Gabriel?”

Grimacing slightly, Castiel looks around the kitchen like he is searching for someone. “I’ll be sure to mention that he has yet another title now. I don’t think he knows about ‘Party Man’ yet. ‘The Grandiose Partymaster’ maybe, but not ‘Party Man’.”

His eyes return to Sam, who is just sitting still with surprise. “You’re his brother? I didn’t know he had one.”

“It’s not really necessary information in order to enjoy a good party. I don’t come to Gabriel’s parties too often, and if I do, I usually sit and read in the kitchen,” Castiel says, motioning to his book in front of him. 

“But I’m always invited,” he adds. “He’s a good brother.”

“Right,” Sam says, not doubting Castiel’s claims. He glances around the kitchen, thinking he might catch a glimpse of the elusive Party King. He’s only met Gabriel a few times—met being a relative term since it was really just an introduction and a fleeting greeting—but Sam has heard that he seems like a genuinely nice guy who truly cares if his guests are having a good time. No doubt, Gabriel was just as an attentive brother.

“-you?”

Sam snaps out of his thoughts. “What?”

“I said,” Castiel repeats, sounding a little bothered, “what about you? Do you have siblings?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam says. “I’ve got an older brother. He doesn’t go here, though.”

Castiel simply nods his head and waits for Sam to continue. He leans forwards in his chair and suddenly Sam feels as if all of the attention in the room is focused on him.

“He’s a good brother too, I guess,” Sam tries shrugging the feeling off. “He was a bit mad about me leaving for Stanford, but he visits periodically.”

“Why would he be mad?” Castiel sounds genuinely interested in the story behind Sam’s words, and he feels compelled to continue.

“I don’t know,” Sam lies, before feeling guilty to lying to his new friend. Friend? “Family stuff.”

“Ah.” 

Lucky for him, Castiel doesn’t pursue the matter any further. Sam wouldn’t know what to say if he had to continue.

“Sam!” His head spins around at the sound of Becky’s voice. She approaches the table with an empty red cup in her hand and places her free hand on his shoulder. “See? Told you you’d find someone to talk to!” She winks at Castiel, who only stares at her with a slightly confused look on his face. “But now I have some friends to introduce you to, come on!”

“Uh, okay?” Sam begins to stand, but pauses midway, glancing at Castiel.

“Sorry! I’m stealing Sam,” she says apologetically to Castiel, tugging Sam by the arm the rest of the way standing. She begins to pull him towards the living room before Sam stops her for a moment. He turns back to Castiel, who is still seated at the table.

“Would you like to talk more?” Sam asks, unable to stop himself. “Or like hang out?”

“Sure,” Castiel agrees after a moment of consideration, like there is an actual possibility that he’d say no to Sam. “I’d like that.”

As Becky leads Sam out of the kitchen, he takes a look back at the now nearly empty table. Castiel has already resumed reading Les Misérables, but now a corner of his lips was pulled up into a tiny hidden smile.

The next morning, Sam wakes up to his phone alarm blaring promptly at eight in the morning and he immediately starts cursing himself for not turning it off before going to bed. His head was throbbing and he felt a little hung over, but luckily not too bad. He’d only had a couple of beers anyways, but his tolerance wasn’t anything near Brady’s.

Sam rolls over on his side and opens his eyes, immediately met with the light of the rising sun streaming through the curtains. Brady is snoring less than ten feet away, still fully clothed in what he wore last night to Gabriel’s party.

...Gabriel’s party. 

Sam winces as he realizes.

He asked Castiel to hang out but never got his number or where he lived or even his last name. Campus is big, so it’s not like he could go hunt him down or anything. 

That would be stalkery, anyways.

Well, it’s not like he can’t at least find out Castiel’s last name, since he’s Gabriel’s little brother. A last name is better than nothing. Sam searches the sheets for his discarded phone and quickly types out a text to Becky: _[What is Gabriel’s last name?]_

He gets a response while he’s in the dining hall, over a large breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon. Becky must have just woken up. _[Novak. Why?]_

_[That guy I was talking to in the kitchen was his brother.]_

_[Gabriel has a bro?]_

Becky is considered the socialite in their study group, so Sam is rather surprised at the question. _[You didn’t know either? Out of all people, I figured you’d know.]_

 _[Well, it’s news to me. I don’t see him that much at Gabe’s parties,]_ and then a few moments later, _[I’m glad you met some1 new.]_

 _‘Castiel Novak,’_ Sam thinks to himself, repeating it a few times in his head. Maybe he’ll bump into him on campus. Sooner rather than later, Sam hopes. Campus is big and there’s more than fifteen-thousand undergraduate and postgraduate students enrolled this year, according to the fliers spread out in the advising office. It would take a lot of luck, running into Castiel by chance, and that’s luck Sam knows he doesn’t have.

Castiel is different than a lot of people he’s met at Stanford so far. He seems subdued and laid-back, but still oddly formal. He’s smart, that much Sam is sure of, and maybe a little different and eccentric, judging by his choice of literature and reading location.

Still, Sam enjoyed talking to him last night more than he enjoyed the party itself. That means something, doesn’t it?

‘Sooner rather than later’ turns out to be Monday, just after noon, because Sam’s phone buzzes during the last half of his Global Justice intro class.

 _[Hello, Sam,]_ is all it says.

While students file out of the room after class is finished, Sam finally responds. _[Uh, hello? Sorry, I don’t know who this is.]_

_[You left the party before we could exchange numbers.]_

Sam’s shoulders relax a little. It’s definitely Castiel, since he barely spoke to anyone else at the party who would have been mildly interested in having his number. Maybe his luck is changing.

_[Oops, sorry about that. How did you get my number?]_

_[I asked your friend Rebecca this morning. She is currently in my philosophy class.]_

Sam mentally makes note to thank Becky later. _[Ah, ok. What’s up?]_

_[I’m currently in the middle of a rather heated Literature debate over the value of sacrifice and love in Les Misérables.]_

_[Heated? Then why are you texting during it?]_

_[Because the opposing side is wrong and it’s almost not worth arguing with them since they obviously won’t listen to reason.]_

Sam laughs. He should think that was very egotistical to say, but coming from Castiel, it’s just funny. He’s more than halfway across campus before he decides to text back. _[So, when are you free to hang out?]_

His thumb hovers over the send button. Sam’s not used to actively pursuing friendships, not like this. Throughout his childhood, they moved around too much for Sam to make any long-term friends. Hell, sometimes they moved so quickly that he couldn’t even make short-term ones.

And since he came to Stanford, he just kind of falls into friendships, without much personal effort to seek them out. Becky practically scouted him out the first day and dragged him to meet her brother Zach, and constantly introduces him to many of her friends as time goes on. At first, Sam didn’t like Brady as a roommate—he’s loud at times and Sam comes home to a sock on the door a little too often for his liking—but they quickly became good friends anyways. In addition, they are all Political Science majors as well, and it was so easy to click with them over classes. 

But something about Castiel makes Sam want to be his friend, or at least get to know him more. And it looks like he’ll have to put forth an actual effort to accomplish that.

He presses send.

The answer is almost immediate. _[I’m free tomorrow afternoon. After 4:00.]_

Sam shoots a text back, smiling.

They meet at the cafe in the center of campus, the place that serves strong coffee all day and all night during finals and thankfully accepts the university meal plan as payment. Sam walks up the stone steps and looks around the seating area. There are students everywhere, sipping at their caffeinated beverages and studying or chatting with each other.

He spots Castiel sitting at a small table up against the windows. He’s more or less wearing the same thing he did at the party, except his shirt is now light blue and his poorly-tied necktie is black, and he’s drinking something from a steaming to-go cup while looking out the window. 

Sam carefully weaves his way through the tables of people and Castiel’s lips turn up slightly as he approaches. “Hey.” Sam sets his bag down in the empty chair across from Castiel and says, “I’m going to go get something to drink. I’ll be right back.”

Luckily, the line is only a few people long and his order for a small Americano comes quick. Sam glances across the cafe while waiting for his drink, and Castiel is still sitting quietly, checking something on his phone.

“So, how’re you?” Sam asks while sitting down back at the table, maneuvering his bookbag between his feet, out of the way of the aisle. “Sorry for leaving so quickly on Saturday.”

“It’s no problem.” Castiel grips his coffee and pulls it a little towards him, making room on the tiny table for Sam. “I am well,” he says before chuckling a little sarcastically. “But I say that and its only the first few weeks of the quarter, hm?”

Sam laughs. “Man, I know what you mean.”

“And how is your Tuesday treating you?”

“Like hell. Class from eight to noon and then I had to wait to see a bunch of professors, some of which weren’t even there during their office hours or had lines of people down the hall. It’s just been a long day,” Sam says, hoping he didn’t unload too much on the poor guy. “I just... needed this.” He motions to the coffee cup in front of him.

“College is very stressful,” Castiel agrees, peering down at the cooling brown liquid left in his cup. “You could say coffee is an addiction to me. Not a day goes by without an morning and afternoon coffee.”

“I’m not a huge of coffee, but it’s just so... necessary.”

“Gabriel often tells me ‘if you’re not drinking coffee in college, you’re doing it wrong.’”

Sam’s smile turns into a scowl. “I might have to agree with him on that. I don’t think I’d be able to get my work done or even survive without it.”

It’s Castiel’s turn to smile, if only just minutely. “What classes did you have today?” he asks, changing the subject.

“International Relations and Ethics,” Sam says, sighing into his cup. “Ethics sounds like it would be all common sense, but it’s really not.”

“I would imagine so. People’s views on ethics vary from region to region, and even from person to person.”

“Yeah, well, it would be easier if everyone was just had the same view on ethics,” Sam says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

Castiel tilts his head in thought. “Isn’t it what makes the world interesting?” he muses.

“I guess,” Sam shrugs. “I just get so frustrated with that class. If it weren’t for some of the annoying people in that class, it would have been bearable...”

For a quick moment, Castiel’s eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch. “If it makes you feel any better, let me tell you about some of the students in the Film department...”

As Sam is listening to Castiel’s story, he thinks about what Castiel is like as a student here at Stanford. He is a hard worker? He’s obviously smart, but Sam knows that doesn’t always transfer over. Does he like sitting in the front of the class or the back of the class? He keeps thinking as he nods his head periodically to Castiel.

After it seems like he’s done with the story about students who think they can watch foreign movies dubbed and think it’s the same effect as subtitles, Castiel feels he has thoroughly convinced Sam that Film majors aren’t all smiles and cartoons and popcorn.

In all reality, Sam is just thoroughly convinced that Castiel loves movies and hates idiots.

Nearly an hour later, Sam thinks its weird but funny how their conversation has taken so many different directions. It’s almost extreme. They started out with coffee, then moved onto classes and majors, and then to books to music to movies, and now Castiel is on a tangent over his unpopular opinion on _Inception_.

“They shouldn’t have called them dreams in Inception.” Castiel says in frustration. “If they used the word ‘subconscious,’ it would have been more accurate and easier to understand.” 

Sam just looks at him. “You’re really passionate about movies, huh?”

“They are essentially my major, so yes.”

Sam glances down at his watch, surprised to see that it displays that the time is 5:25 already. Sam has just under an hour to walk back to his dorm, get changed, and ride the bus to work. It’ll be close, but he’ll make it.

“Hey, I’ve gotta go. Work, you know?” Sam says, standing up from the table and gathering his bag into his arm and picking up his empty coffee cup and napkin. “I’ll see you around, Cas.”

“Cas?” he asks, blue eyes wide as he stares up at Sam, now towering over him and the table.

Sam freezes. “Er, sorry. Can I call you that?” he asks, hoping he didn’t mess up. The nickname just slipped out.

Castiel is silent for a moment, thinking. No one has given him such a simple nickname before. Gabriel calls him ‘Cassie’ or ‘Cassandra’ when he’s teasing, and Anna has never called him anything less than his full name. He generally hates nicknames, but ‘Cas’ seems to sound so right coming from Sam. “Yes, of course.”

Sam smiles in relief. “Alright, then. See you around, Cas.”

“See you around,” Castiel affirms, looking up at his impossibly tall new friend.

Wednesday sails by but Thursday is slow like a snail stuck in tar. Professor Crowley, his Ethics teacher, decides to assign a ton of extra readings from books that he didn’t own, so Sam finds himself in the library in the afternoon, trying to locate the four extra books that would have collectively cost him an arm and a leg at the campus bookstore.

According to the library’s catalogue, the first book on his list is on the basement floor, where the older editions and reference-type materials are kept. Sam strides through the aisles of the rolling bookshelves, looking for the right numbers for _Lectures on Ethics_ by Kant.

Sam finds the row with a placard depicting the right Dewey Decimal numbers and he flicks the switch to unlock the shelf and begins to crank the wheel, moving the tall metal shelves to the side, making an aisle.

“Excuse you!” A voice calls out frantically, though still quiet due to the nature of the library. “Someone’s in here!”

Sam immediately grips the wheel and wrenches it the other way, quickly moving the shelf back into its original spot. He walks down a few more rows, towards the source of the distressed voice.

He glances down the aisle and sees Castiel wedged between the shelves with a massive stack of books in his arms.

“Cas!” Sam walks towards him, surprised to see him at the library of all places.

“Any reason you were trying to flatten me?” Castiel demands, leaning up against the locked shelf, breathing a little hard. “You scared me.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were in here,” Sam apologizes in earnest, running a hand through his hair at the thought of making a friend one day and then squishing him with a rolling set of shelves the next.

Castiel’s shoulders relax and he sighs. “Well, be more conscientious next time, please. You may just save a life.”

“Right, sorry,” Sam replies and Castiel hums a little in acknowledgement.

“So,” Sam eyes the stack of books in Castiel’s arms. “Looking for books too?”

“No, I’m putting them away,” Castiel says. “This is my job.”

“What?”

“I work as an assistant to the librarians. Though most days, I usually just file books away.”

“Oh,” Sam says, imagining Castiel rolling a cart of books through the library, stopping periodically to shove them into shelves. “You do this every day, or...?”

“Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, after class.” Castiel shrugs. Miraculously, he balances the stack on one arm and pulls a book off the top. His eyes diligently search through the numbered spines before placing the leather-bound book in its place. Sam watches him reach for another book before Castiel clears his throat.

“Can I help you? Find your books?”

“Oh,” Sam realizes he was staring. “No. I know where they are. Just...”

“You need me to get out so you can reach them,” Castiel says, understanding Sam without any further explanation. “I’ll step out.”

“Thanks.”

They file out into the main aisle and Castiel follows him to his shelf. Sam unlocks the latch again and cranks the wheel, creating a skinny little aisle between the two roll-away shelves. 

“Ethics readings?” Castiel asks, looking at the numbers on the placard.

Sam is surprised at his mind reading abilities, once again. “How did you know?”

“I know a lot of the Kant books and journals are in this aisle. I put a lot of them away every week.” The way Castiel says it makes it seem like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh,” Sam says again, skimming his fingers over the books’ spines lining the shelves. He can feel Castiel’s stare follow his fingertips. He finds the number he’s looking for and tugs the relatively thin blue book out of the shelf. He waves it at Cas, in a motion that says _‘I found it.’_

“Do you need help finding any other books?” Castiel offers, shifting the stack of books in his arms uncomfortably.

“Honestly, you look like you’re the one who needs help,” Sam says, gesturing at the books.

“If you say you need help, I get to put these down,” Castiel deadpans.

Sam looks from the stack of books to Castiel’s face, who raises his eyebrows in expectation. “Then... I need help finding my books?”

“Thank you,” he says appreciatively, quickly striding to the nearest cart and shoving the books onto it. “I thought my arms would give out.” He stands and stretches his arms a little, before walking back to Sam. “So, what are we looking for?”

Sam digs out his crumpled piece of ripped notebook paper with the titles and numbers scrawled onto it and passes it to him. Castiel studies it for a moment, mentally making a plan on which books are closest to each other and what order they should be retrieved to be efficient.

Castiel leads Sam through the library, much to the librarians’ chagrin, who eye him from behind the main desk. Three of the books on his list are in the basement with the rolling shelves, and Castiel finds them with ease, but the fourth is on the main floor. Castiel complains about how students who take books from the shelves on the main floor rarely ever put them back in the right place; like students in the basement care more for organization than those on the first floor.

“Sometimes, I’ll find books shoved back in, like no one cared for the Dewey Decimal System at all,” he says, rolling his eyes as they weave through the shelves. Castiel finds the numbers he’s looking for. They stroll down the aisle, and he looks up, skimming the numbers labeled on the base of the spines. His eyes fall on their target, _The Theory of Justice_. “That, and I don’t like the main floor because the shelves are _tall_ ,” Castiel frowns, drawing out the last word like a curse.

Sam looks up to where Castiel is staring. According to the numbers, the book should be on the very top shelf, definitely out of Castiel’s reach. Sam reaches up and rolls up onto his toes; he wondered if shorter people had to get the stepladder for this. The book is very worn, so Sam places it gingerly into the crook of his arm, on top of the others.

Sam turns to Castiel, who is still standing there, staring intensely at the top shelf. “Thanks, Cas. For, uh, ‘helping’ me.”

“Anytime,” Castiel replies, nodding at Sam. He waits a few moments in an almost awkward silence before adding, “I should probably finish putting those other books away.” He takes a few small steps back, away from Sam.

“Okay,” Sam manages to say before Castiel turns promptly and heads towards the stairs.

With books in hand, he wanders through the main floor and back down to the basement until he finds an open table. Professor Crowley assigned several chapters from each of the books, and Sam figures it’s several hundred pages and at least a few hours of reading. He’ll just read, take detailed notes, and return them before the weekend even starts.

A couple of hours later, when he’s halfway through the assigned reading for the third book, Castiel comes and finds him at his table. This time, he has a black messenger bag with him, and he sets it on the floor next to Sam’s table and sits down across from him.

Sam stares up at Castiel, who doesn’t look at him while he takes out a few binders and a large purple book titled _Cinematography Through the Ages_. He spreads out his stuff across the surface of the oak table, but doesn’t disturb any of Sam’s things.

“On break?” Sam asks, looking across the table and breaking the silence.

“I finish working at four,” Castiel replies, uncapping his highlighter and examining his notes with a careful eye.

“Oh.” Sam twiddles his pen between his fingers, watching Cas dive into studying. “What are you working on?”

“Same thing as you.” Castiel drags the highlighter across the page, finishing the stroke with a flourish before looking up to meet Sam’s eyes with a steely gaze. “Readings and taking notes.”

Sam hums, looking back towards Kant’s lectures sprawled out in front of him. They work together in relative silence, only the scratches of Sam’s pen making meticulous notes and the squeaking sound of Castiel’s highlighter were to be heard in their corner of the library basement. Sam enjoys it—not taking notes for his most hated class, but sitting there and studying across the table from Castiel. He likes studying with other people, but it’s not too often that he gets the opportunity.

After about an hour and a half goes by, Sam checks his watch instinctively, knowing it was getting closer and closer to the time he has to leave for work. Sighing softly, he stacks the four books on top of each other and packs the rest of his stuff into his backpack. “I have to go, Cas.”

“Just put the books on the cart near the stairs on your way out,” Castiel informs him. “I’m sure whoever works the shift after me would _love_ to put those away.” He sneers dryly, knowing full well that Rachel works after him and absolutely loathes putting books away. _‘It’s a waste of my talent and time,’_ she once told Castiel, before asking him to do her work.

Sam catches on to Castiel’s unique sarcasm and soundlessly laughs as he gathers the books into his arms. “Okay. Bye, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Sam,” Castiel answers, meeting Sam’s soft eyes with his piercing ones before returning to his highlighted notes.

Sam’s weekend is years too short and he sleeps a good amount of it away. Sam doesn’t see Castiel until the following Tuesday, just after Professor Crowley assigns his Ethics class a comparative literary analysis paper on all the readings he has assigned thus far, due at ten on Friday morning. Sam scrambles to get to the library, determined to stay far away from any distractions or his bed, which is definitely a distraction by itself.

He settles down at a slightly larger table near the table from the previous Thursday, and spreads out his notes in chronological order across the table. He stands behind the wooden chair and examines them from afar. They’re color coded and very organized, but Sam still struggles to figure out connections between some of the assigned readings.

“Kant, Bacon, and Hobbes...” Sam mutters, eyes skimming across all the section titles. _‘If that’s not the start of a joke, I don’t know what is...’_

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the tan of Castiel’s trench coat as he emerges from the shelves, rolling a cart half-full of books. He steers it to another set of shelves and stops the cart, flipping the brake on with his foot. Castiel takes a bundle of books off the cart and turns to put them on the shelf, spotting Sam in the process. Their eyes meet and Castiel nods his head at him, which Sam returns before turning back to his work.

Sam is still attempting to draw simple concept maps on scrap pieces of notebook paper when Castiel joins him a few hours later. He doesn’t greet Sam, or ask what he’s doing or for permission to join him, but rather just sets down his things, sits down at Sam’s table, and whips out Les Misérables from the main pocket of his bag.

Sam notices Castiel is nearly two-thirds finished with the book, a lot further along than he was at the party. Castiel reads silently, not looking over the top of his book to meet his stare, so Sam goes back to to the seemingly endless cycle of writing and erasing his pitiful concept maps.

They sit together, not even talking, both focused on their own coursework. _Companionable silence_ , Sam thinks it’s called. It’s weird, he feels a little more content studying with someone close by, instead of holed up in his room where Brady or his bed could distract him, and the fact that it was Castiel made it seem oddly better.

Time flies fast again, much to Sam’s dismay, and he glances from his barely filled outline to his watch, which once again dutifully informs him that he needs to leave soon for the restaurant if he wants to be on time. He sighs at his notes, looking over them again as if the perfect paper would just jump out from them.

“You have work,” Castiel finally speaks, lowering his book a little to look over at Sam. “Soon, if I remember correctly.”

“Yeah,” Sam rubs his forehead in exasperation. “I just really wish I didn’t this week. This Ethics paper is going to murder me.”

“When is it due?”

“Friday morning,” Sam says, dreading the day already. Fridays should be his day off from classes and work, but apparently not.

“Ah, that’s so soon.”

“Yeah. Just,” Sam groans, “this douchebag professor suddenly assigns a twelve page paper due in four days? What’s up with that?”

“A power trip, perhaps,” Castiel ponders, knowing Sam must have Professor Crowley for Ethics, who runs his students ragged and loves to throw curveballs at anyone and everyone, even his favorite students.

Sam laughs bitterly. “That’s ironic. An _Ethics_ professor on a power trip.”

“Still, it’s possible.”

Sam shuts his hardcover book with more force than necessary and shoves it into his backpack. “I don’t even know why I registered for that class.”

Castiel watches Sam pack up the rest of his things and hoist the backpack on his shoulders. “Because it’s a required class for admittance for the law school,” Castiel supplies, as reasonable as ever.

Sam groans again, knowing he’s right. “Man, why are you always so logical?” he asks rhetorically.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Castiel answers honestly, the point of the question flying way over his head.

“Cas...” Sam says, smiling weakly and shaking his head, waving as he leaves.

It’s Thursday afternoon, and Sam is once again pouring over his notes, fanned across the tabletop in the library basement. His outdated second-hand PC laptop is sitting out near the edge of the table, precariously perched on a stack of Ethics books he’s hoarding in the meantime.

Only occupying the tiniest amount of space, Castiel is sitting in his usual spot across the table, with only Les Misérables, a notebook out and a pen in hand. He’s been extremely quiet for the hours he’s been there after he finished with his shift, every once in awhile looking over at Sam in concern only to go back to reading after a few seconds.

Sam runs his hands through his hair for the n-th time that day, internally freaking out that his paper is only nine pages long when it needs to be twelve. His talent was always being concise and straight to the point, and there’s no way he can fluff out his paper to be three pages longer than it already is.

He sits down at the table again, bracing his face in his hands and staring at his paper with wide tired eyes. After nearly three full days, working day and night when he’s not in class or at the restaurant, he still feels that his paper isn’t good enough. Will he fail this paper? The class entirely? How far will that drop his GPA? Will he lose his scholarship? Where will he go if that happens?

Sam starts breathing faster, feeling a panic attack coming on swiftly. He can’t leave Stanford. That definitely can’t happen.

“Sam.” 

His mouth falls open and words start tumbling out. “I just have to finish this paper before work and I’m not sure I can and-”

“ _Sam._ ”

“-nothing I’ve written this entire quarter so far has been what he’s looking for, if I could only figure out how he grades or what he wants-”

Castiel settles a warm hand on Sam’s forearm and Sam stops talking immediately, ripping his attention away from his notes and meeting Castiel’s eyes. 

“Calm down,” Castiel soothes as much as he can with his grumbly voice. “You’ll do fine. You’ll finish it.”

Sam lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and relaxes a little as Castiel retracts his hand from his arm. “Yeah.” He nods a bit, staring wide eyed down at the paper sprawled across the table. “Yeah, I will,” he says a little more confidently, trying to convince himself while gripping his pen hard in his fist.

The rest of the paper seems to go a little more smoothly after that. Sam thumbs through his flagged pages of Kant and finds another point to write about, pushing his paper to an estimated thirteen and a half pages long, over the minimum limit. It’ll take him all night after work to write it, write a master conclusion, do major edits, and proofread it, but he knows it’ll be worth it.

When he leaves the library to go to the restaurant, he feels a lot less worried about the assignment. “I’ve gotta go, but thanks, Castiel, for you know.”

“For what?” Castiel tilts his head and knits his eyebrows together, obviously needing clarification.

“For calling me out on my freak out. I feel a lot better about this paper.”

The corners of Castiel’s lips turn up into a warm and honest smile. “Anytime. I’m sure you’ll do well.”

Sam waves goodbye and exits the library’s basement doors, nearly sprinting across campus because he’s almost late and Ellen would have his head for being late for a Thursday rush.

As predicted, the paper does take him all night, but luckily he doesn’t have any classes on Fridays since he’s not a science or math major, so he can sleep as soon as he turns it in.

It’s 10:04 in the morning and Sam is feeling like a million bucks, walking back from the Political Science department office where he handed in his paper with only minutes to spare. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he flicks it open, expecting a text from Becky or Zach. It’s from Castiel instead, now labeled just ‘Cas’ in his contacts.

_[Have you turned in your paper?]_

_[Yeah. I just did.]_

_[How do you feel?]_

_[Relieved. Confident,]_ Sam types out, before being honest and adding, _[still somewhat nervous.]_

_[That’s natural. Besides, it’s over.]_

_[Thank god. I’m going back to my room to sleep til dinner.]_

_[Are you busy later this evening?]_

_[Not really, no. Why?]_

_[TCS is hosting a film tonight called Howl.]_

_[TCS?]_

_[The Cinematic Society. Otherwise known as movie club to the general populace.]_

_[Ah, ok.]_

_[I was wondering if you’d like to go?]_ and then immediately after, _[It’s free for students and in the main auditorium on campus.]_

Sam gives it some thought. A movie sounds nice and relaxing, not to mention it’s free, and it would give him an excuse to tell Brady if he tries to get Sam to go to another party. 

_[Sure.]_

Cas gives him the details, and an amazing six-hour ‘nap’ and a breakfast-lunch-dinner meal later, Sam is standing outside of the largest auditorium on campus, five minutes before their agreed meeting time. Sam’s early as always, and Castiel rounds the corner of the building just as his watch beeps seven o’clock.

Sam blinks at Cas’ new attire. It’s difficult to explain; it seems casual, though not all too different from what he usually wears. It’s weird to see Cas out of his somewhat formal outfit of pants, a button up cotton shirt, and sometimes a tie. He’s wearing a sweater with a subtle blue and grey striped pattern over a white button-up shirt. He’s swapped out his black pants for nice jeans and black sneakers. He still wears the trench coat, but it is a chillier night than usual for California.

“Hello,” Castiel greets him as he approaches Sam, nodding in his direction.

“Hey.”

Castiel starts leading him up the stairs and into the building. “Did you catch up on your sleep?”

“Six hours,” Sam is almost proud to admit.

“Wow,” Castiel says, sounding sort of amazed as they walk down the strangely empty hallway. “How does that not disrupt your circadian rhythm?”

“I have no idea. Give me a bed or a car or even the floor and I can fall asleep anywhere,” Sam says, not mentioning that he gained that ability through experience—traveling across the country with his brother and father every other month, practically growing up in shitty motel rooms and rental houses. “So basically, I’ll fall asleep tonight somehow, sooner or later.”

The main auditorium isn’t even remotely filled, and Sam figures it’s mostly the club members that make up the sparse audience. They’re settled in groups spread around the first dozen rows or so, some chatting up a storm and others lounging around on the seats. Sam can smell popcorn and spots a few people with large reusable canvas bags of snacks.

Castiel leads him down the center aisle, striding towards the front. “Would you like some popcorn?” he asks, stopping and turning on his heels to face Sam. “I think one of the ladies would be willing to share.”

“Uh,” Sam begins to answer before a blonde man in a thin black v-neck shirt comes up behind Castiel and puts his arms around his shoulders, only slightly surprising him.

“Balthazar,” Cas says, without even looking to see who is clinging to him.

“Cassie, my dear boy,” Balthazar says with a thick slithery accent. “ _Howl_ awaits us.”

Castiel shrugs Balthazar’s arms off his shoulders and turns to face him and Sam. Balthazar crosses his arms over his chest and gives Castiel a quick smirk before turning to Sam.

“And who’s this?” The man looks him up and down, and Sam looks at him questioningly.

Castiel rolls his eyes at Balthazar’s usual come ons. “Balthazar, this is Sam. Sam, this is Balthazar, my cousin.”

“Nice to meet you.” Sam holds out his hand, unsure of what else to say to the man.

Balthazar’s eyes narrow at him, and Sam can’t figure out why, but he firmly grips Sam’s hand and shakes it anyways. “The pleasure is all mine,” he says, eying Sam suspiciously.

Castiel takes this opportunity to corral Sam towards the eleventh row, a little to the left of the center.

“So, Balthazar is your cousin.” Castiel nods, motioning for Sam to sit down. “And Gabriel is your brother. Does your entire family go here, or what?”

“More or less, yes,” Castiel confirms, peeling off his coat and laying it over the back of a chair. “Both of my parents attended Stanford, as well as all of my siblings, cousins, and aunts and uncles. I think we’re classified as a ‘legacy’ family at this point.”

Sam is stunned. That’s a lot of Stanford graduates and no doubt a lot of money spent on tuition. Castiel once mentioned having earned the largest scholarship in his family so far, but didn’t have a full ride like Sam. He couldn’t even imagine the student debt they must be in, unless they’re loaded. “Wow” is all he can say.

“I’m going to get some popcorn,” Castiel says before wandering away, leaving Sam as he ambles towards the group of girls near the front row. Sam watches Castiel approach them and they smile at him warmly. He seems to be well-liked in The Cinematic Society, or at least among those girls. Sam can’t hear what they’re saying, but soon after, they’re handing him bags of what Sam assumes is popcorn.

“You better be nice to my cousin, you twit.” Sam nearly jumps out of his skin at the voice in his ear. Balthazar is crouching in the row behind him, staring at him from across the seats. He shares the same type of piercing blue eyes, but his stare is completely different.

“I am?” Sam says, confused. _‘What’s up with this guy?’_

Balthazar’s eyes narrow for just a split second, but then he huffs as he stands up and briskly walks away to greet another small group of people who had just walked in.

“I hope Balthazar wasn’t giving you too much trouble,” Castiel says, holding a small bag of popcorn out, offering it to Sam. “He’s quite overbearing at times, if you’re not used to him.”

“No, no. He’s fine,” Sam lies.

Castiel takes the seat directly to the right of Sam, not leaving an empty seat between them like guys usually do at the movies, but Cas doesn’t seem like a usual guy nor seem to follow normal social conventions. But Sam didn’t mind. He didn’t seem to care like his brother would in this situation, who once made him sit a seat away from him during a movie even though they were brothers.

“Alright, settle down you bunch of miscreants,” Balthazar calls out through the auditorium, striding up to the front stage and turning to face the audience. “We’ll get this movie started. Since our darling VP seems to be too busy tonight,” he shoots a quick glare in Castiel’s direction, who just shakes his head, “I’ll be introducing the movie. We’re watching _Howl_ , which is newer this year. Directed by Epstein and Friedman—not our favorites, I know I know. But, this movie is about the well known poet Allen Ginsberg, whose poems most of us are familiar with. If anyone is interested, we’ll be having a discussion group on the film next Monday at seven in the usual spot.”

The bright overhead lights dim on cue, and the projector flickers to life, displaying the movie’s title menu. Balthazar claps his hands. “Well, it looks like we’re ready to get started. Enjoy, my lovely subjects.”

As the lights dim even more, Castiel leans over to speak quietly into Sam’s ear. “As president, Balthazar thinks he’s a king.”

Sam smiles at the comment but doesn’t reply, focusing on the screen.

The movie is a lot shorter than Sam expects it to be, but indie films are never near standard length unless they are purely a documentary. He remembers reading _Howl and Other Poems_ by Ginsberg in high school, so watching a movie on the controversial trial of the author was somewhat familiar.

Several times during the film, he glanced to his right to catch Cas out of the corner of his eye. Completely engrossed in the movie, Castiel sat statue-still the entire time, only moving to pop a few kernels of popcorn into his mouth every now and then.

While the credits roll, the lights glow back to life and Sam stands up and stretches, realizing he’s spent most of his day either sitting or sleeping in his bed. Castiel is still in his seat, folding the empty popcorn bag between his fingers and shoving it into his pocket before standing up.

“Shall we go?” Castiel says, gesturing to the doors in the back of the auditorium.

“Sure,” Sam responds instantly, not knowing where they were going and not really caring about it.

As soon as they’re outside, under the stars in the cool brisk air of the California night, Castiel starts speaking, although tentatively. “Did you like the movie?”

“Yeah, it was really interesting. I read a bunch of Ginsberg in high school, so the whole thing was pretty familiar.”

“I’m honestly surprised they made a movie out of it in the first place,” Castiel says honestly, scratching at the back of his head as they walk towards the south side of campus.

“Why do you say that?” Sam asks, knowing full well a storm was coming.

“Because, cinematically speaking, it wasn’t very impressive. They could have done things differently in the technical department to make it at least a little better. It presented the content of _Howl and Other Poems_ decently, and one could say it presented art artfully, but otherwise it was quite mundane. In my personal opinion, it just wasn’t as good as I was expecting.” Castiel takes a breath, exhaling it slowly. “Perhaps I’m just picky.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being picky.” Castiel’s head whips around at Sam’s statement, curiously looking at him as they walk along the edge of campus. “Especially if you’ve got sound reasons to back yourself up.”

Castiel hums, turning his attention back to where they’re walking. “I guess so. Luckily, next week we’re watching another movie, _Samson and Delilah_ , which you’re invited to as well, if you’d like.”

“Thanks.”

They reach a corner of campus where Sam would normally turn right and follow the edge to his dorm building, but he didn’t know where Cas lived or if they were going to just keep walking. They pause on the street corner of Campus Drive, the border separating campus and the surrounding area.

“So my dorm’s that way,” Sam starts, then cursing inwardly on how suggestive that sounded.

“I live a few streets in that direction,” Castiel says, pointing across the street. “So, I suppose this is where we split.”

Sam nods, thankful his friend is a bit oblivious at times. “Right.”

Castiel turns to face Sam fully. “Thank you for coming to see _Howl_ with me tonight.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, thinking that this totally sounded like the end of a date. “Thanks for inviting me. It was, uh, a great movie.”

“Goodnight, Sam.”

Sam feels like this is a point where he should hug Castiel. Is that the right thing to do at this point in their friendship? Sam didn’t know.

Sam looks down at Castiel, realizing how easy it would be to pull him into his arms, and begins to hold his arms out, but then spots Castiel’s bright wide eyes looking back up at him.

“Bye, Sam,” Castiel says quickly before scurrying off across the crosswalk, effectively leaving campus. Sam watches him disappear into the dark night as he waits for the light to change so he can begin his walk home.

The night is getting chillier as it goes on, but California is nothing in comparison to the one time he spent two winter months in South Dakota, where everything was ice and bitter cold. He shoves his hands into his pockets and observes campus as he walks back. There are a few other people out and about, walking to and from parties or work or the library no doubt. It was still early for a Friday night, but Sam wasn’t interested in going or doing anything else except going back to bed or reading a book he’s had on his list for ages.

As he’s walking, Sam’s mind wanders until he’s thinking about Castiel again, and the expression on his face when he saw Sam thinking about hugging him. _‘Hugophobe?’_ Sam thinks, laughing to himself. _‘Or just not that type of guy?’_ Sam likes hugs, but only got them from his older brother growing up. Since he came to Stanford, Becky gives them to him all the time and sometimes Zach and Brady hug him if they’re totally smashed, but Sam still finds himself a little touch-starved, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it.

Now that Sam thinks about it, they’ve only ever touched once—when Castiel calmed him down in the library yesterday—but Sam supposes people don’t normally come into contact with each other on a daily basis. Or perhaps Castiel simply doesn’t like hugs or being touched. He shrugs, putting the memory of the weird reaction to the back of his mind.

“How was your date?” Brady drawls from his place on his bed as Sam comes into their room, obviously a little more than just tipsy.

“What? I didn’t go out on a date,” Sam says, throwing his green cargo jacket on a hook on the back of the door.

“Whatever. Obviously she didn’t put out if you’re home this early.”

Sam narrows his eyes before rolling them. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’re not out tonight.” He gestures to the empty beer bottles littering Brady’s desk and the floor between their beds.

“Yeah,” Brady agrees. “Really, there aren’t too many parties this weekend because of midterms are comin’ up. There’s one on Lucas Street but I don’t really wanna get dressed and walk all the way over there for it.” Basically, _‘it’s not one of Gabriel’s parties’_ was left unsaid, and Sam understood.

Sam flops forwards onto his bed, digging around the covers for his laptop, bent on checking his email for the first time that day. He’s paranoid that he’ll get an email from Professor Crowley, saying something ridiculous like that his paper is missing because his dog ate it or the office mailbox caught on fire, or something similarly insane.

“Dude, are you still tired? You slept all day!” Brady says.

“Two all nighters in a row and working in between doesn’t help.” Sam rolls his eyes. “Not that you’d know,” he chides.

“Yeah, well, you’ve probably shot up three inches since I’ve met you. Growing boys need their sleep!”

“Dude, shut up.”

Sam doesn’t see or hear from Cas over the weekend, but on Monday, he settles with his books at the usual table on the bottom floor of the library. He spots Cas a few times, wheeling around a cart of books and placing them into various shelves. He tries to focus on Ethics, but ends up rereading his International Relations notes over and over.

“Sam,” Cas’ deep rough voice breaks Sam out of his concentration. His head snaps up to see his friend standing next to the table, looming over him.

Sam clears his throat. “Hey, Cas.”

He motions for him to sit down at the spot across from him, but Castiel shakes his head. “I have to watch a movie at my apartment for my Cinematic Analysis midterm on Wednesday.”

“Oh,” Sam says simply, a little put out.

“Would you like to come with me?”

“Uh,” Sam starts, unsure of exactly where this conversation was going but Castiel is quick to speak again.

“It won’t be loud and you could study there, too.”

“Oh,” he considers it for a minute, glancing around the busy library floor. “If I’m not interrupting you or anything then sure,” Sam says, shutting his books and piling them into his bag before Castiel leads him out of the south entrance.

The walk to Castiel’s apartment is short—only a few blocks off of campus, like Castiel said on Friday—and they share a few details about their relatively boring weekends along the way.

“It took me until this morning to get my hands on _Nosferatu_. Someone had checked out the library’s copy for more than two weeks and they finally returned it today.”

“Isn’t that like a really old movie?” Sam says, seeming to recall it being black and white when he and Dean watched it the night before Halloween one year growing up.

Castiel nods. “It is a classic, one of the top movies in cinematic history. It’s black and white and also a silent movie, which is why it shouldn’t be distracting to you if I watch it while you study.”

“It would be okay either way,” Sam says, already feeling like he was imposing even though he was invited.

Castiel lives in one of the more expensive apartment buildings off-campus, with a well-kept lobby and a person working a front desk and everything. Sam takes time to ogle the marble floors and the fresh flowers in vases everywhere before Castiel informs him that he’s only one floor up so they’ll take the stairs.

The door to Castiel’s apartment is painted eggshell white, like the hallway, except for fancy gold numbers denoting “202” are nailed to the center. They stand in the empty hallway for a moment as Castiel jiggles the key into the lock and swings the door open.

The inside is nicer than most college student housing Sam’s ever seen, probably because it wasn’t meant for students but actual working adults. Gabriel’s house is just as nice, if you can see it under his constant party gear, so not that many people notice. But this... this was _nice_.

The front door opens up to a short skinny hallway, and the apartment is bright and full of sunlight. There’s a full kitchen—with granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and a _dishwasher_ , Sam adds with a hint of jealousy—on the left, and he can spot a spacious bathroom with a shower with a dark green curtain on the right side of the hallway.

“Come in.” Castiel leads him in. “Take your shoes off please, I don’t like sweeping and mopping that much.”

“Oh, okay,” Sam snaps out of his daze and kicks off his shoes onto the mat near the door where both Castiel’s black loafers and black sneakers are neatly placed.

Sam walks further into the apartment, and has to stop to take it in. He somewhat expected a small simple studio, where the bed and the living room are the same room, but he is wrong. There’s a full-sized living room with plush carpets with a nice dark green suede couch and matching armchair facing a medium-sized flatscreen television in the corner. The windows are wall to wall and blackout curtains hang from them, drawn open wide to let the afternoon sun in. There’s a closed door on the side of the room, and Sam’s only guess that would be Castiel’s bedroom, which is probably just as spacious as the rest of the apartment.

Setting his bookbag on the kitchen counter, Castiel calls to Sam. “Would you like a drink?”

“Some water would be great,” Sam answers, looking around the room some more without moving from his spot between the kitchen and the living room. Out of Castiel’s living room windows, Sam has a nice view of the street and the nice house across from him, and down the street he can spot the corner of the nearby park.

Castiel comes out of the kitchen with two glasses of water with ice in each hand. He gives one to Sam and walks into the living room before sitting on the carpet between the couch and the coffee table. He takes a drink of his water while gesturing for Sam to join him.

“You can sit anywhere,” he informs him after swallowing his mouthful of water. Sam decides to sit on the matching green suede chair a few feet away from the couch, putting his glass of water on a cork coaster on the table. Castiel does the same before getting up and digging through his backpack to pull out a blank library DVD case.

He fiddles with the DVD player and television controls as Sam takes out his Global Justice book and sets it on his lap. He has an essay due in two days for the class, but knows he’s not going to start it until Wednesday between class and work, though he may as well get the reading and notes done now, rather than wait until then.

The TV is on and working now and Castiel returns to his cross-legged seat on the floor, wedged between the couch and the coffee table, facing the TV.

“You know couches are made for sitting on, right?” Sam says, trying to be funny.

“And professional wrestlers smash folding chairs over each other’s heads,” Cas retorts, opening his notebook to a fresh page. “Not everyone uses furniture the way its intended.”

“Please say you use your bed,” Sam mutters under his breath.

Castiel gives him a flat look, but then responds as he presses play on the remote. “Yes, Sam. Don’t you worry, I sleep in my bed.”

As it turns out, Castiel is very slow at watching movies. He’ll let it play for a few minutes, and then pause it to scribble down some notes, and then unpause it. Over and over and over again.

It would annoy Sam if there was a lot of sound, but Castiel has the volume on low, and the only sounds the movie makes is the background music.

At one point during the movie, when Orlock starts drinking blood, Sam catches himself watching along with Cas, textbook long forgotten. He watches the movie with an odd sort of feeling, like fascination mixed with nostalgia, but when he looks over at Castiel, there’s something totally different.

Castiel is nearly squinting at the screen, like the moving pictures were something he needed to figure out. It’s like the movie was a puzzle and he’s the only one who can solve it. He pauses it again, and writes down more notes before turning his head to face Sam.

Quickly, Sam ducks his head down and pretends to read. He’s probably being pretty creepy, watching someone watch a movie.

Castiel unpauses it again and Sam resumes his reading. Time flies too fast and before Sam knows it, his watch is beeping and he knows he has to leave for work.

“Sorry, Cas,” Sam says, slipping his books back into his bag. “I’ve-”

“You have to go, I know.” Castiel looks away from the television without pausing it. “Thank you for joining me,” he says, as formal as ever.

“No, no. Thanks for having me over, your place is really awesome.” Sam stands up and pulls his backpack over his shoulder. “I’ll just show myself out, huh?”

Castiel nods, blue eyes still staring at Sam from his seat on the carpet. “Goodbye, Sam.”

After he puts his shoes back on and opens the front door of the apartment, Sam calls back once again. “See ya, Cas.”

Later that night after working overtime at the restaurant, Sam’s laying in bed, trying to fall asleep when his phone buzzes. Rolling over, he reaches a long arm over the end of the bed to his phone on his desk.

_[I’ll be watching different movie tomorrow, if you’d like to come over again.]_

_[Sure. Sounds good. I’ll be there.]_

Sam smiles a little and falls asleep soon after.

Tuesday brings another hellish Ethics class, another essay, and another movie with Cas.

This time, the movie is called _Metropolis_ —another silent movie—and both Sam and Castiel have never heard of it.

Sam is seated in the same green chair as the day before, but now Castiel is curled up on the couch, knees drawn to his chest, drinking stronger coffee than Sam could ever stomach. He watches the movie quicker than _Nosferatu_ , only pausing to take short notes every ten to fifteen minutes, and finishes it before Sam has to leave for work.

Castiel dramatically drops the remote onto the couch, pausing it right before the credits roll. “What. was. that,” he asks no one in particular, voice filled with disbelief.

“Hm?” Sam hums, chewing at the end cap of his pen and looking up from his Ethics textbook.

“For my midterm tomorrow, I’m supposed to write eight pages comparing and contrasting _Nosferatu_ and... _this_ ,” he spits like a curse, giving a deadly stare at the screen with his icy blue eyes.

“Well, how are they similar?” Sam asks, trying to help his friend out like he did for him.

Castiel looks over at him, eyes wide. He looks distressed. “They’re monochrome. And silent. That is it.”

“Oh,” Sam sighs, not knowing what else to say. His specialty isn’t in movies, though judging with how his Ethics readings were going, his specialty isn’t in that either.

“I’m going to go into class tomorrow and have nothing to write,” Castiel bemoans.

Sam seizes this opportunity to return the favor from Thursday. “No, you’ll do fine, Cas. Just like I did on my Ethics paper.”

Castiel looks at him blankly, fingers curled into fists and knuckles turning white.

“You’ll nail it,” Sam tries to encourage him again. “Just keep looking for similar things to talk about." 

“I’ve been looking,” Castiel spits. “I watched it and there is _nothing_.”

“Obviously there is something otherwise your midterm wouldn’t be on it,” Sam says and is met with a deadly glare from his friend. “Uh, you’ll pull through. You know more about movies than anyone I’ve ever met.”

He’s met with a gruesome stare, and Sam realizes that Castiel is freaking out more than he lets on. He puts on a stoic front and always seems so calm and collected, but Cas still has worries of his own.

“Here,” Sam offers, reaching a hand out for the remote. “Let’s watch it again.”

Castiel is still frowning a little, but he hands over the remote after a moment of consideration.

Putting his books aside, Sam watches the movie with Castiel, who only pauses it a few times. He tries to point out themes or similar scenes, but Sam is afraid he’s wrong and not helping at all. Castiel still stares at the screen, and Sam can swear he can see the inner gears of his mind clicking away. 

They’re halfway through the movie again, without pausing, before Sam’s watch beeps.

“So, do you feel more confident now?” Sam asks while pulling on his shoes at the door. Cas followed him and stands in the front hallway a few feet away.

“A little. I’ll figure the rest out tonight. I’ll just have to watch them over and over again, side-by-side if I have to.”

“That’s the spirit.” Sam fights down the urge to hug him. “Alright, later, Cas. Good luck on your midterm tomorrow.”

“Thank you. Goodbye, Sam,” Castiel returns warmly, closing the door behind him.

Later that night, Sam stops at a local movie rental store on the way home from work.

Castiel doesn’t work at the library on Wednesdays, and he didn’t invite Sam over, so he’s genuinely surprised to see the man knocking at his door, obviously interrupting his post-exam nap.

Nevertheless, he’s happy to see him and lets him in.

Cas is wearing sweatpants and a Stanford Honors tee shirt, and it makes Sam double-take. His hair is a little messy and there’s more stubble than usual on his face. To be honest, Sam thinks it’s a little hot but shuts the thought down quickly and tries not to focus on Cas’ appearance.

“I was thinking, since all you seem to do is watch movies you’re assigned, what about today we watch one of my favorites?” Sam says, smiling as he pulls a DVD case from the side pocket of his bag and waves it in front of Cas.

Castiel’s eyes light up in interest and he snatches the DVD case out of his hands as Sam kicks off his shoes at the door. He holds it in his hands like a Holy Book, cradling it carefully in his fingers as he walks past the kitchen. Flipping it over, Castiel reads the synopsis and the list of actors, producers, directors, and studios.

“Have you seen it?” Sam asks. Castiel shakes his head, still examining the case. “I figured we’d watch something a little mind-melting. Here,” he reaches for the case, “I’ll put it in if you want to get us some drinks.”

Sam is still trying to figure out which channel Castiel’s TV needs to be on for the DVD player to work when Castiel returns to the living room. In one hand he has a larger than life bowl of popcorn and has two diet Cokes in brown vintage-style bottles in the other. 

“Input number four,” Castiel informs him.

Sam nods and presses the Input button four times, sniffing the buttery air. “Smells like a real theater in here.”

“I was craving some popcorn.” 

Castiel sits on the far edge of the couch, closest to the window, and sets the bowl down beside him on the middle cushion. Sam glances back from the chair to the space left on the couch, deciding he’d rather sit on the couch next to the popcorn than the chair. He sits and grabs a handful of popcorn as Castiel presses play.

Forty-five minutes later, Sam swears that Castiel has never watched a movie at home without pausing it. Every ten minutes, his hand reflexively curls around the remote, as if he was going to press pause.

“So, what? Doctor Furter is essentially a parody of Doctor Frankenstein?” Cas asks, staring at the screen with an actor wearing leather parading about.

“That’s the point,” Sam says, downing the last of his coke. Castiel has already asked so many questions, but Sam guesses that is just part of his nature.

“I just had to ask. I thought I might be reading too much into the name Doctor Frank N. Furter. I can see some parallels, I suppose...”

“You’re not supposed to ‘suppose,’ Cas. Just watch and don’t think too much on it.”

“I’m sorry. It’s a habit.”

“Just watch the movie,” Sam repeats.

Cas doesn’t reach for the remote again, but instead stares at the movie a little more blankly. And by ‘blankly,’ Sam means more like a normal person. The rest of the movie plays through, eliciting small laughs and grins from Castiel, and Sam counts each and every one of those as a personal victory. He wasn’t sure if Cas would like _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ , but he didn’t know what other mind-meltingly fun movie to rent for a movie buff.

The credits start rolling and Sam stretches his feet out under the coffee table, wiggling his toes in his worn white socks. He looks beside him; the popcorn bowl is nearly empty and Castiel’s eyes are closed.

“Cas?” Sam asks quietly, not wanting to wake him up if he’s actually asleep. “You awake?”

Castiel doesn’t answer and his head rolls a little to one side, mouth falling open a little as he breathes deeply. Sam chuckles silently at the sight. It was the afternoon after a morning midterm, and he must have stayed up all night studying hard for it. Undoubtedly, Sam probably woke him up during a much needed afternoon hibernation.

Sam wonders if he should cover Castiel with a blanket, but he doesn’t know where to find one and he doesn’t want to invade Cas’ privacy by going into his bedroom for one. As quietly as possible, Sam moves the popcorn bowl and the two empty coke bottles to the kitchen and puts them on the counter. He lets himself out of the apartment, closing the door as silently as he can and returning to his dorm room.

Later in the afternoon, in the middle of a dinner of lasagna and salad in the cafeteria, Sam’s phone lights up with a text.

_[I’m sorry I fell asleep during your movie.]_

_[No problem. You seemed tired anyways. Did you like what you saw of it?]_

_[I was awake for most of it. It was certainly interesting, but definitely entertaining and out of the usual realm of movies that I usually watch for class. Quite refreshing. Thank you for sharing.]_

_[Anytime. Glad you liked it.]_

“So, spill,” Becky demands over the large round table in her shared off-campus house. It’s Wednesday night and they’re all seated in Becky’s kitchen, determined to study their asses off together for a few hours, at least.

Sam looks up from his half-highlighted Constitutional Law notes. “Spill what?”

“Rebecca, we have a test soon,” Zach tries to remind her, gesturing at his nearly empty notebook, since he claims Professor Gordon talks too fast.

“Shush, we’ll get to studying,” Becky says. “But, Sam has been going out with a certain someone recently.”

Zach looks over at Sam, eyebrows raised. “What? Who?”

“Dude, you lied to me!” Brady exclaims. “No wonder you’ve been out of the room so much lately. Lucky dude.”

Sam knits his eyebrows together. “But I’m not going out with anyone.”

Becky’s eyes narrow at the same time she crosses her arms. “Then what’s up with you spending all your time with Castiel Novak?”

Zach’s head whips up, mouth half stuffed with cheddar potato chips. “Novak? Like Gabriel Novak?”

“His little brother,” Becky supplies, nodding.

“I didn’t even know he had a little brother,” Brady says, and Zach agrees.

“Well,” Becky starts, determined to share her knowledge. “Our dear Sam met him at that party a few weeks ago and they’ve been hanging out ever since.” She elbows him in the arm a little, wiggling her eyebrows.

“How do you even know that?” Sam stammers, glaring at her suspiciously. Sometimes he wonders if Becky spends more time on gossip than on coursework.

“I know things,” Becky says, flashing a sly smile. “And people. Who know people, who know people, who know more people. Who know things.”

“We get it, Becky.”

“So like, what?” Zach starts, turning to Sam. “He’s your new best friend?”

“What about us, man?” Brady asks, sporting a half-assed mock offended expression.

“Guys,” Sam rolls his eyes. They’re making such a big deal over him having another friend other than them. “He’s just a friend. And you guys are still my friends too.”

“Right, we’re your friends _and_ your study group,” Becky declares. “We come first.”

“Hey,” Sam says defensively. “I haven’t missed a study session yet.”

“And you won’t miss any in the future,” Zach adds. “We need you, man... to teach us Constitutional Law.”

Becky punches Zach in the shoulder. “Don’t listen to him, Sam. You can hang out with Castiel, just don’t become a stranger, okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Of course.”

After class on Thursday afternoon, Sam’s phone lights up on silent and he side-eyes it. Hiding it under his desk, he flips it open as silently so he can to see the message. Unsurprisingly, it’s from Cas.

_[Busy today? You’re not at your usual table.]_

Sam frowns. He looks up at Lance, who is talking endlessly across the table. He has already scolded Daphne for answering a text from her mother during their meeting, so Sam tries to type a text out under his desk, without looking at his phone or looking suspicious. _[Im working with a group fro a project for Intrnatoinal Relations this afternoon. Srry.]_

 _[Ah. I was only curious.]_ is the seemingly normal response, but Sam is starting to think that Cas wasn’t just curious, but looking for him. It was around the same time that Castiel would finish up his shift at the library and join him at their table in the basement.

Lance turns around and starts writing on the whiteboard of their borrowed empty classroom, drawing out diagrams and divvying up duties between group members. Sam takes the opportunity to look at his phone. _[Doesn’t look like I’ll be at the library this afternoon. This project is pretty big and we’re kinda behind.]_

“Sam!” Lance barks accusingly, having turned around while Sam had his head down. “Don’t you want to get a good grade? Or pull your weight? Or participate at all?”

Sam sighs. Little did Lance know, the first part of their project due a week ago was completely done by Sam and Daphne. At this point, Lance could go fall off a bridge for all he cared. “Yeah,” he murmurs, not really interested in fighting the issue. Lance is a bit thick-skulled when it came down to it.

_[Ok. Good luck on your project.]_

“Now, we should each work all weekend over this, since it’s due Monday,” Lance declares like a self-proclaimed dictator. “I want all of your time to be dedicated one hundred percent to your part of the project.”

Daphne frowns and Sam sighs for the tenth time in the last hour, flipping open his phone again, not caring if Lance sees or not.

 _[Do you want to hang out tomorrow instead?]_ He texts, thinking something along the lines of shouted _‘Fuck you, Lance’_ and a whispered _‘I kinda want to see you.’_

_[Yes. That sounds good.]_

Sam ends up working with Lance and Daphne right up until Sam has to leave for work. He is ready to get out of that godforsaken classroom and away from Lance’s relentless judgmental stare, even if it is to just run home, change into his waiter uniform, catch a bus, and work for several hours.

Once again, Ellen has him working overtime, but she promises to tack a little something more onto his check at the end of the week as an apology for all the extra work. He doesn’t mind it too much, though. It’s money and the work isn’t that hard, just busy and relatively exhausting by the end of the night.

Sam falls forwards onto his sheets, not bothering to change out of his black and red uniform just yet. Brady must be out and about since their room is empty. He wonders if Brady will be out all night or if he’ll stumble in at three in the morning, drunk and loud. They may not have classes on Fridays, but being woken up at three AM isn’t pleasant no matter what day it was.

It’s a few minutes to midnight and Sam is nearly asleep in his work clothes, spread across his bed and on top of the sheets. He can hear his phone buzz in his drawstring bag that he tossed on his desk chair right when he got home. He considers not answering it in favor of sleep, but it also hits him that it might be Becky or Cas or worse, Lance.

Sam huffs out an exhale as the last name floats through his mind, leaving a bitter taste, but decides it’s more likely that it’s one of the first two. After trying and failing to reach his bag from his position on his bed, Sam reluctantly stands and stretches a little before ambling the few feet over to his desk.

His phone vibrates the obligatory second reminder vibrate as he digs it out of the bag. The text turns out to be two, one from Becky and one from Cas. He clicks through to see Becky’s first.

_[If Constitutional Law had a face, I would punch it. With a knife. Ten times.]_

Sam smiles at the reference but doesn’t reply. Becky’s phone always had sound on and beeped when it got a message. She’s given him hell before when he’s accidentally woken her up, so he’s not going to risk it at midnight after a horrible week of midterms. He clicks down to see Castiel’s text.

_[I forgot about TCS tomorrow night. Would you be interested in seeing Samson and Delilah? You don’t have to if it doesn’t interest you.]_

_[Sure. Same time and place?]_

_[Yes.]_

Friday is a calming day without classes or deadlines, and Sam starts it with a jog to the gym and a decent workout. After his shower, he manages to get ahead in Constitutional Law readings and notes by dinner.

Castiel, clad in another sweater and trench coat, is waiting for him outside of the auditorium at five minutes to seven. His head is turned up towards the sky, which is spotted with fluffy clouds and brightly colored due to the setting Californian sun. 

As Sam approaches, he turns his attention from the sky to Sam and he grins a little. Sam smiles back at the sight and greets him. “Hey, Cas.”

“Good evening,” Castiel returns, leading him up the stairs into the building. “How has your Friday been?”

“Relaxing,” Sam says, thinking about his day. “You?”

“I ran errands today,” Castiel shrugs. “But in a way, it was also relaxing.”

Sam agrees absently as they turn into the auditorium through the doors. There’s the same amount of people in it as the week before, for _Howl_ , and from what Sam can remember, most of the people are sitting in the same places.

Castiel leads Sam down the center aisle past Balthazar, who gives him the dirtiest stare as soon as they pass. They end up sitting in the same two seats, in the eleventh row. Castiel sneaks up to get popcorn from the group of girls settled in the front row while Balthazar makes the opening speech.

“Hello, ladies ‘n gents. Tonight we have the pleasure of viewing the independent film, _Samson and Delilah_. It was both written and directed by Warwick Thornton. You might remember him from _5 Seasons_ and _First Australians_ , which we have watched in previous years. Once again, we will be having a discussion about the film on Monday at the usual spot. Enjoy the film, my lovely subjects.”

The light dims and the reel begins as soon as Balthazar exits the stage, and Sam glances over at Cas. He found it interesting how Castiel could go from examining the back of the chair in front of him to being completely enraptured by moving pictures on a screen in zero-point-two seconds.

About an hour into the film about the dreary lives of two Aboriginals in Australia, Sam steals another glance at his friend beside him. Castiel is completely spellbound by the film, barely even taking his attention away to take a handful of popcorn from the bag between them. Sam’s eyes linger a little too long, and Balthazar coughs from a few rows behind them and his eyes snap back to the screen. Luckily, Castiel didn’t notice at all.

Sam ends up finishing the popcorn by himself, and when the credits roll, Castiel slowly comes out of his movie-induced coma. He looks around the room, as if he was lost, until his eyes finally settle on Sam beside him.

“Sam,” Castiel says before clearing his throat, his voice still grumbly afterwards. “Did you enjoy the movie?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam replies, scratching the back of his head and glancing around the room before returning to Castiel’s intense stare. “It was interesting, to say the least.”

“Interesting, indeed.” He doesn’t blink, and they stare at each other wordlessly for a little longer than Sam is comfortable.

“Cassie,” Balthazar whispers harshly from the row behind them, startling both of them. Castiel turns in his seat to glare at his cousin.

“What?” he asks, showing clear annoyance over the interruption.

Balthazar narrows his eyes at them, looking between them over and over before leaning back in his seat. “Nothing.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and turns back to Sam. “Shall we go?”

“Yeah,” he replies, grabbing his coat off the back of the chair before following Castiel back outside the auditorium, giving Balthazar a sarcastic nod on the way out.

They fall into step alongside each other on their walk across campus. Castiel speaks animatedly about the movie, explaining his thoughts and opinions about how the brutality of the movie broke up the tragic love affair of the two main characters in a well-punctuated way.

Sam ends up agreeing with everything his friend says, knowing that Castiel has put everything into words so quickly and carefully after seeing the film. It is captivating, seeing Castiel speak so passionately when normally he’s really quite stoic.

“I can’t even imagine their situation, but it was portrayed so well,” Castiel comments as they approach the intersection where they were to part. “I am interested to hear the reviews from other TCS members on Monday.”

Sam presses the crosswalk button on the light pole for Castiel as they turn towards each other on the curb. He feels the urge to hug Castiel again, as if they were on a date, but quickly shrugs it off.

“Thank you for coming to see the movie,” Castiel says, looking up at Sam with a slight smile.

“No problem.” Sam shrugs. “Thanks for inviting me again.”

Castiel looks offended. “You’re always invited.”

“I guess maybe I should actually join the club, then, huh?” Sam jokes, forcing out a laugh.

“You should.”

The light changes to yellow, then to red. The glowing red hand turns into a white walking person, and Castiel turns to face Sam fully.

“See ya, Cas,” Sam says, wondering how long the walk signal will last. Castiel doesn’t speak immediately, but rather lingers there, looking back at Sam. He’s about to ask Cas ‘what’ before Castiel raises his arms up and out a few inches.

“Sam,” he says, prompting Sam uncertainly. He immediately envelops Castiel with his arms, finally fulfilling his urge to hug his friend. Castiel’s arms tighten around him slightly, but it’s still a loose and friendly hug. They pull apart just as the crosswalk signal turns into a blinking red hand.

“Goodnight, Sam,” Castiel blurts before dashing across the road into the dark without looking back, leaving Sam standing on the curb with Cas’ warmth still lingering on him.

Sam thinks about the hug over the weekend, but neither bring it up again after the fact. He could still feel the heat of Castiel’s body seeping through the front of his clothes, and the subtle strength in his slender fingers that he used to grip Sam. He ponders what was different about the first time they almost hugged and the second time they actually did.

Monday at the library starts out a little awkward, but basically continues as normal after the initial half hour or so. Neither mentions the hug, or even hints about it. Sam wonders if it was a bad hug or if Castiel regretted it or something. Or maybe it is as simple as ‘dudes just don’t bring that kind of stuff up with other dudes’ as Dean would say.

Castiel’s Monday and Tuesday movie is the first Lord of the Rings movie, and Sam basically neglects the books in his lap in favor of geeking out over the movie instead. He couldn’t believe Castiel has never seen it before, so he makes sure to be patient when Castiel has to pause it every few minutes to take notes, but unfortunately he has to leave for work before Cas was even a fourth of the way through.

Wednesday is a little different, a variation on the near-domestic pattern they’ve created. Sam gets a text from Cas during his Global Justice class, saying _[Sam, I understand you are finished with classes at two. Would you like to get lunch with me? I am on campus because of a meeting and in the mood for cheeseburgers. They are the daily special at the Pub, today only.]_

Sam nearly snorts in the middle of class. Cas is in the mood for cheeseburgers and is asking him to come with. Sam has had a cheeseburger at the Pub before, and he thought they were pretty decent. He’s more into getting a salad or fries instead, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t join his friend.

_[Sure. Meet you at 2.]_

He’s let out of class a few minutes later than usual, and Sam walks quicker than usual to make sure he gets across campus to the Pub in time. He breezes through the doorway into the casual restaurant and spots Castiel sitting at a table for two near the windows, who smiles gently when he sees Sam.

“Hey.”

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel returns while Sam sets his stuff down on the ground near his feet. “How were your classes this morning?”

“They were fine. It’s Wednesday, the only classes I have to actually worry about are my Tuesday and Thursday classes.” Sam actually shudders at the thought of going back to Ethics with Crowley again tomorrow. “We turned in our group project today, so I’m finally done with that.”

“Mm…” Castiel agrees. “I don’t like group projects.”

“I don’t think _anyone_ likes group projects,” Sam retorts and Castiel actually laughs a little.

“People think I’m… difficult to work with,” Cas says, looking a little complexed.

“I’m sure you’re fine to work with. However, there’s this guy named Lance…”

Sam explains the ludicrous group members he’s had to work with for the past few weeks as they walk up to the counter to place their orders, leaving only their jackets on the chairs to save their table. Castiel orders a cheeseburger, just like he said he would, and a juice and Sam orders a chicken salad with water. They pay separately but receive the same number placard ‘12’ to put on their table.

“I’ve only eaten here a few times.” Sam says as they sit back down at their table. Students are slowly filtering out of the Pub because it’s almost the time when they stop serving food in preparation to open for dinner.

“I’m not usually a fan of on-campus dining,” Castiel informs Sam, shrugging with one shoulder. “Usually I eat meals in my apartment, but I cannot replicate the taste that the cheeseburgers at the Pub have in my own kitchen.”

“You cook?” Sam asks, half-surprised and half-impressed. College students who can actually cook are scarce, and he wouldn’t have pegged Castiel to be one of them.

Castiel nods. “It’s relaxing, and admittedly cheaper than purchasing a meal plan.”

Sam thinks about it and eventually agrees. If he had the time and space to cook, he could probably save money by doing it himself, but since his dorm didn’t include a kitchen and the basic meal plan was included in his full scholarship, he wasn’t complaining.

Their food arrives rather quickly, since there weren’t many students left eating and the staff wants to get out and begin cleaning and preparing dinner for when they open at 4:30pm.

Sam stabs into his salad a few times, watching Castiel eye his burger ravenously before diving straight into it. They eat in—what did he call it again?—companionable silence. He could definitely admit that it was better eating with Castiel in relative silence than eating by himself in a crowded dining hall. He was constantly surrounded by people in college, but it always felt so lonely.

Soon, the food service workers begin cleaning the tables, obviously trying to corral them out of the Pub without being direct.

Sam ends up following him back to his apartment (without even asking?), and just as Sam settles into his green chair (when did it become his?), a wave of realization washes over him. 

They have fallen into a pattern.

After classes, Sam usually grabs a bite for lunch from the dining hall and heads to the library, where he studies at a table in the basement until Castiel finishes his shift. Then they usually walk to Castiel’s apartment, where Sam studies and Castiel watches the movie of the day until Sam has to leave for work.

It kind of freaks Sam out, thinking about the normalcy and regularity that his life has attained, even though it’s always been a distant, almost impossible dream of his. But, in reality, he enjoys the fact that he has someone to hang out with nearly every day, with no pressure involved and no one depending on him for their grades.

He didn’t feel that lonely anymore. Usually, he’d go through periods of an almost depression-like state, missing his brother and his long black car and musing about if leaving what was left of his family to go to Stanford. 

But now there isn’t a lot of time for those feelings. He spends part of his day in class, another part of his day relaxing and studying with Cas in his apartment, and then usually goes to work in the evenings. 

It all feels so… happily domestic.

And it kind of scared him.

The train of thought plagues him for the rest of the night, Becky nearly slaps him upside the head when she notices he’s not completely there during their study group session.

On Thursday, as they walk through the lobby of Castiel’s apartment building, Cas checks his mailbox on their way to the stairwell, located on a long wall of black boxes, each with their own plates engraved with last names. He shoves his key into the one inscribed with ‘Novak’ and throws open the little door.

“Oh, I have a package,” Castiel says, reaching into the hole in the wall and pulling out a pink piece of paper.

“Order something?”

“Movies,” Castiel answers simply, closing the latch to his mailbox, holding the package slip in his hand. “I’ve purchased ten of the most highly rated filmed stage productions of Les Misérables and I intend to watch them all before beginning to write my comparative final paper.”

Castiel hands the slip of paper to the man at the front desk, who exchanges it with a medium sized cardboard box covered with tan tape.

“That’s insane.”

Castiel nods nonchalantly, not denying Sam’s claim as he brushes past him, leading him up the stairs. “But necessary for my final paper.”

Almost as soon as they’re through the door of his apartment, Castiel searches through the kitchen drawers for a pair of sharp scissors and strides into the living room. Sam ambles in behind him, sitting down on his armchair.

Settling down on the carpet in the middle of the living room floor, Castiel tears into the box like a kid on Christmas, and pulls out the receipts and bubble wrap covering his prizes. He suddenly becomes more gentle, pulling each DVD case out of the box gingerly. He examines every single one from top to bottom, front and back, before lining them up in what Sam assumes to be chronological order. 

They’re finally laid out in two rows of five across the carpet, and Castiel sits back on his heels, admiring them. “What do you think?” Castiel asks, not taking his eyes off the covers of the movies spread out across the carpet.

“You’re crazy,” Sam says jokingly, only to be met with Castiel’s deadpan stare. “No, really. About what?”

“Should I watch them chronological or reverse-chronological order? Old to new or new to old?”

Sam thinks for a moment, tapping his pen against his chin. “Old to new.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Castiel says, picking up a DVD with a black and white cover image from the top left-hand corner of the two neat rows. He runs his fingers up the spine gently before clicking it open. “It’ll be nice to see the sets and costumes and quality of film improve over the years.”

He shuffles on his knees across the carpet and turns his television and DVD player on. Sam digs out a few of his books out of his backpack as they both settle in for a quiet afternoon. Castiel keeps the volume on low, but Sam still listens in to the music and dialogue.

About an hour and a half later, Sam knows that _Les Misérables_ is one of the most depressing things he’s ever listened to in his life. He thought the musicals would be a little more cheerful than the book, but he should have known. It is also one of the longest movies he’s sat through since _Titanic_.

However, there’s something about watching Castiel watch movies that’s intriguing. He can’t tell if it’s the intensity of his focus, or the amount of sincere interest in whatever he’s watching, whether it’s assigned to him or not. He truly loves every minute, every song, every frame, every word uttered, and clings onto it like it’s his one true calling. He may not catch everything in reality, but when it comes to movies, Castiel gives nothing but his utmost attention and concentration. Sam figures that’s why he’s a Film & Media Studies major.

Castiel coughs, a reminder of the air getting a little chillier as the year approaches the beginning of its end, and Sam snaps to attention. He realizes he was staring blankly at the side of Castiel’s head, but smiles that his friend didn’t notice him. Sam flips the page of his Global Justice book sitting in his lap, and tries to resume studying for at least another hour.

Castiel is just beginning the second rendition of _Les Misérables_ when he adjusts his sitting position and turns a little to face Sam. 

“Sam?” he says tentatively, pausing it with the remote control before any dialogue or singing has started. The words ‘Assistant Director:’ are frozen across the screen.

“What?” Sam says, not looking up from his Constitutional Law textbook balanced on one knee, deftly flipping his pen through his fingers, back and forth out of habit.

“Are we... dating?”

Sam’s pen goes flying out of his hand and clatters across the coffee table. He’s eyes go wide as he looks over at his friend across the room. He doesn’t answer right away, but Castiel waits patiently and expectantly for an answer.

“Uh,” Sam starts, stricken practically speechless, unsure on how to continue. Honestly, he never really thought about it. Okay, maybe once or twice. He likes Castiel, especially as a friend, as well as his company, but he’s not sure if he should be dating when he’s already so caught up with school and work. And it’s not like Castiel has been giving him any signals recently, so Sam probably should just say no. 

“Would you like to be?” Sam immediately frowns, surprised at his own words. That wasn’t what he meant to say at all.

Castiel is silent for a moment, but then speaks decisively. “Yes, I would.”

“Oh,” Sam sighs, a little shocked at the reply. He’s quiet, taking the new information in. “Then yes, we’re... dating.” The words seem so weird and foreign to him as he says them.

“Wonderful,” Castiel says, returning his attention to the television screen and unpausing the movie.

Sam sits stock still while looking at the side of Castiel’s head, completely stupefied. Castiel is just sitting there cross-legged on the carpet in front of the couch, minding his own like nothing at all happened a few moments ago.

“Cas,” Sam begins.

“Yes, Sam?” Castiel answers, not taking his eyes off the screen as the chorus starts singing “Look Down.” Sam looks at Castiel’s profile and examines it for a moment. There’s an ease in his face, and his eyebrows are more relaxed. Sam swears he can see a hint of a smile grace his lips.

“Nothing, Cas. Nothing.”

Sam wakes up the next morning with a jolt, immediately questioning if the day before was real or not. He must have been on autopilot for the rest of the evening, after leaving Castiel’s apartment. He barely remembers the bus ride home from work, but he does remember mindlessly washing dishes for a good hour after closing.

All he can really think about is Cas, his… boyfriend? Should he be calling him that already? What were they exactly?

Anyways, he must have spent most of the night in shock, to put it bluntly. He never expected to be in a relationship so soon after coming to Stanford, not to mention being in a relationship with Castiel, his male friend. He’s known he is bisexual since high school, but he usually has a preference for the ladies.

Sam wonders what will change between Cas and him but is interrupted by a short muffled buzzing from his phone. He rolls over, looking for it among the covers and and floor for his phone, finally finding it tucked away at the bottom of his black drawstring bag he takes to work. He digs it out and flips it open.

_[Would you like to come to TCS tonight? We are watching 'Pan’s Labyrinth.' Again.]_

_[I’ve never actually seen that, but I’ve heard it’s good.]_

_[Hm.]_

Castiel is waiting outside of the auditorium, wearing dark jeans and a burgundy and white sweater, courtesy of the clothing department of the Stanford bookstore. His face lights up with a smile as Sam approaches and they walk up the steps to the auditorium together.

The audience is noticeably more filled than usual, almost nearing half-capacity by Sam’s estimation. He can spot the clusters of familiar TCS members in their usual spots, but they are surrounded by more students, filling in the gaps between them to make it seem like there was a real audience this time.

Some students move past them in the doorway, rudely pushing them out of the way. Sam wonders if the movie is really popular because of all of the students, but Castiel seems to read his mind and answers his question before he can ask.

“Spanish majors are required to attend one Spanish-language movie or theatre production each quarter,” Castiel explains to Sam as he leads them to their seats in the eleventh row. He removes his trench coat and hangs it over the back of his usual seat. “I’ll be back with popcorn,” he says before striding to the front row.

Sam watches him for a few quick seconds before a throat clears right behind him. He nearly jumps in his chair before whipping his head around to look behind him. Sure enough, he’s met with Balthazar’s narrowed eyes and a look that could kill.

“I will cut your hands off if you don’t keep them off my cousin,” he threatens quietly, so no one else could hear. His accent doesn’t quite match the level of threat, but Sam is weary anyways. From his experience so far, he doesn’t want to mess with any of the Novaks.

Castiel was making his way back up the aisle, with two small bags of popcorn in hand. Balthazar’s expression suddenly takes a 180 degree turn into a bright and cheerful smile that Sam immediately knows is fake. “I hope you enjoy the film, it’s absolutely lovely,” he drawls a little too sarcastically for Sam’s taste while patting him on the shoulder.

Balthazar stands as Castiel sits, handing Sam popcorn. “What a night, Cassie,” Balthazar exclaims with an extravagant wave of his hand. “Your _favorite_ movie.”

Castiel frowns irritatedly, ignoring his cousin’s tease and rolling his eyes in the process. He settles into his chair and rips open the top of his popcorn bag, looking over at Sam expectantly.

“Balthazar...” Sam starts.

“If Balthazar said something to you, you can ignore it,” Castiel says, popping a kernel into his mouth and focusing back to the screen, which was displaying the title menu.

 _‘Not sure if I should ignore something like that,’_ Sam thinks.

Not long after, the lights dim and Balthazar parades onto the stage to make his speech. He explains why they play this movie every year, its infamous director, the awards it’s won, and a little cultural significance behind the movie. The scribbling of the Spanish students punctuated his every sentence.

Sam didn’t know what he was expecting, but he never knew that _Pan’s Labyrinth_ was a foreign language film, though he should have figured. He took four years of spanish in high school, but he was still pretty rusty. He ended up reading the subtitles, which made it hard to focus on the entire picture at once. The movie was dark and eerie, and way more gory than he thought it would be.

Several times during the movie, Sam glances down between him and Cas, whose hand was resting on the armrest. He wondered if he should place his own over Cas’. They’re on a date—or at least, that’s what he’s calling it now—but he’s never dated a guy before. He didn’t know if hand-holding was something guys did. Or even something Cas did.

But Sam also thinks about Balthazar’s threat and the fact that Sam needs his hands attached to his body to survive.

He finds himself paying more attention to Castiel’s solitary hand—out there in the open and waiting for Sam’s hand to envelop it—than on the movie. He curses himself. Castiel will definitely ask him what he thought of the movie and he has to make sure he has at least a decent answer to give.

All the while, Castiel’s eyes aren’t as glued to the screen as they usually are. He blinks a lot more, and Castiel looks like he’s more in deep thought than actually watching a movie— _’woah, wait. This is way too fucking creepy,’_ Sam thinks, looking back to the screen just as Ofelia is shot in the stomach by the evil Captain Vidal. There’s a collective gasp from the audience, no doubt from the Spanish students who haven’t seen the movie before.

The credits roll and many people jump up immediately, gathering their notes and bookbags to leave quickly, having better places to be on a Friday night than be at an obligatory event for class. Sam looks over to Castiel, who is still staring at the screen with glazed eyes.

“Cas.” Sam gently nudges him in the shoulder with his own.

Snapping out of his daze, Castiel looks around the auditorium. Spotting people leaving or standing and talking to each other, he looks back at Sam. “Let’s go” Castiel says, motioning towards the door, seeming like he wants to leave more than Sam does.

The fresh cool air feels nice on Sam’s skin. The auditorium gets too hot when there are too many people piled inside. They begin their regular walk around the edge of campus, side by side. Castiel doesn’t speak right away, so Sam takes the initiative.

“Enjoy the movie?”

Castiel scoffed, throwing a quick glance towards Sam and shoving his hands into his pockets. “Not even remotely.”

“Oh?” Sam’s interest is piqued. “Why not?”

“The Cinematic Society watches _Pan’s Labyrinth_ every year due to an agreement we’ve made with the chair of the Spanish department. Let it be said, I’ve seen the movie way more than two times.”

“You didn’t have to invite me to a movie that you weren’t interested in seeing,” Sam says, feeling a little guilty.

“I thought it may have been something you would enjoy.” Castiel shrugs. “Besides, I wanted to see another movie with you.”

Sam’s head spins to look at Cas, who quickly turns his face away to hide the small evidence of a blush on his cheeks. If Castiel’s hands weren’t in his pockets, Sam swears he would have grabbed one by now.

“Well,” Sam starts, carefully treading over the next sentence, trying his hardest not to mess up. “We can always see another movie another time. One that you actually want to see.”

Castiel looks back at him but stays silent for nearly a minute. Sam’s heart is beating quick. He’s never asked someone out on a date before, not like this. With Castiel’s silence, he’s now fearing rejection.

“I would love to,” Castiel finally answers in what feels like years later and a million pound weight feels like it was lifted off of Sam’s shoulders. “Are you free tomorrow night? There’s a theatre downtown playing vintage films for cheap. It’s one of my favorites.”

It takes only a second for Sam to realize that Castiel was asking him out on an actual date the next day. Their first date. Or at least the first official one. Whatever that means. “Uh, sure. When?” he asks, knowing Cas already has a plan formed in his head.

“They only feature one film a night and the screening starts at eight,” Castiel informs him as they reach the intersection where he has to cross the road to his building.

“Should I just meet you there or…”

“Meet me at my apartment and we’ll go together,” Castiel says, spinning on his heels to face Sam as they wait for the walk signal to change. “If that’s alright with you.”

Sam nods, trying to hide his eagerness.“Sure, sounds like a plan.”

This time, Sam closes in on Cas to hug him, not before noticing Castiel flinch and freeze up. The hug is rigid at first, but it only takes a split second for Cas to melt into his arms. Sam savors the warmth and the feel of Cas’ arms around his shoulders, but the hug ends all too quickly.

The walk signal turns to the white walk signal and Castiel backs away from Sam, towards the crosswalk. Sam doesn’t want him to go just yet. “See ya tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Sam,” he calls back, giving him a small wave before he continued walking. Sam watches Castiel disappear down the dark street before he turns to continue on to his dorm and his awaiting bed.

The next morning, before breakfast, Sam gets a text from an unknown number. He stares at the digits for a long minute, as if he could decipher the identity from staring long enough. When he opens the text, all it says is _[If you hurt my brother, I will make your life a living Hell.]_

Sam blinks, thinking fast. _‘Brother’?_ He tries to think which of his friends have siblings, and who could possibly be threatening him this early in the morning. Brady has two younger sisters, both of which aren’t at the age of having phones yet. And Zach’s only sister is Becky, and Sam has her number saved.

Suddenly, it dawns on him. Gabriel Novak. Castiel’s older brother is texting him, threatening him like an overprotective father. Or an overprotective brother. Sam smirks, imagining the short partier wearing his most threatening face. It still wasn’t very convincing.

_[I won’t. I promise.]_

And Sam means it. Castiel is his friend—er, boyfriend, Sam corrects himself—and he would never purposely do anything to mess that up. However, with his inexperience with dating, he couldn’t make any promises about fucking things up accidentally.

_[You better. I’ll be watching.]_

_‘Well, if that isn’t vaguely ominous,’_ Sam thinks, closing out the conversation on his phone after saving the number in his contacts as ‘Gabriel Novak.’ He decides to bring it up to Cas via text over a late breakfast.

_[I think your brother is threatening me.]_

_[I’m sorry. He tends to be a little overprotective. I’ll be sure to tell him to not bother you.]_

_[No, it’s fine. I mean, I get it. My brother is like that too.]_

_[Dean is overprotective of you?]_

_[Hell yeah, he is. You should have seen him when I went on my first date. And don’t get me started on when I left for Stanford.]_

_[Will I have an overprotective Dean coming after me anytime soon?]_

_[I hope not.]_

Sam is able to finish his Global Justice essay and his International Relations readings before heading to the gym in the late afternoon. He spends an embarrassing amount of time trying to figure out what shirt to wear to the movies… his first actual date with Cas? Whatever it is.

He settles on a mostly white plaid shirt with pale blue and brown stripes on it, rolling the sleeves up to his elbows. Sam isn’t one for dressing up for any occasion other than interviews and presentations, but he finds himself fussing over his appearance one too many times before he leaves.

The walk to Castiel’s apartment is a familiar one, and it shouldn’t creep Sam out now that they’re… dating. It’s weird to think about it, but he’s definitely feeling nervous about the movie with Cas. He didn’t even ask what they were seeing, but knowing Castiel, it would be good.

Castiel is waiting on the doorstep to his building, wearing jeans and another sweater—blue this time—under his trench coat. He smiles upon seeing Sam, and walks down the stairs to greet him. With a hug.

“Hey,” Sam says as they pull apart.

“Good evening.”

Castiel leads him a block down the road, away from campus, to a bus stop denoting the Orange and Green lines. Sam examines the timetables printed on the other side of the signpost.

“The next bus arrives in one and a half minutes,” Castiel informs him, nodding his head towards the road. “The Green Line runs downtown and stops about two blocks from the theatre.”

Sure enough, Sam can see the bus coming down the road towards them, eventually slowing down and creaking to a stop in front of them. There are only three other people sitting inside when they board it: an older man with a cane sitting near the driver and two high-school aged girls in the back row, texting on their phones wordlessly. They sit on the sideways-facing seats near the center of the bus, and Sam clears his throat once the bus starts moving again.

“So,” he begins. “What are we seeing?”

“Tonight, the theatre is screening _Twelve Angry Men_. Have you seen it before?

Sam rubs at his jaw in thought, fingertips brushing across the stubble from where he carefully shaved that morning. “Is that the one where there’s reasonable doubt about a murder case and the jury takes forever to come to a consensus?”

Castiel nods. “I thought it might be appropriate as you are pre-law.”

“Ah,” Sam says, smiling at the thoughtfulness. Now that he thinks about it, he’s seen snippets of the movie. A life on the road and with Dean hogging the remote made it so he could never watch it completely. He knows the basic premise: a poor boy is on trial for a murder of his own father, and that, one by one, the jury comes to the conclusion that he is undoubtedly not guilty.

Castiel coughs again and Sam realizes that they’ve been sitting silently for more than a few minutes now. He glances over at Cas, who is looking intently across the aisle and out the bus’ window at the sky, which the setting sun has lit ablaze with a beautiful array of colors. The bus lurches across a bump in the road and Sam wonders if he should try to hold Castiel’s hand, which is perched on Cas’ knee. He stares at it for a moment, building up the courage to take it. He lifts his own and-

“This is our stop,” Castiel announces, standing up while the bus is rolling to a stop. 

Sam withdraws his hand quickly, mentally cursing himself for not taking the opportunity quickly enough. He stands up and follows Cas out of the bus, stepping next to him on the concrete of the sidewalk. Sam can easily recognize the buildings and streets of downtown, despite only have been there a handful of times over the past year and a half of being there. It’s a beautiful night and the weather is pleasant, and there’s definitely quite a few people walking around, taking advantage of their Saturday night.

“The theatre is two blocks that way.” Castiel points down a side street. “We should go and buy our tickets.”

The theatre looks a little more run down than Sam expected, but it’s practically an antique building anyways. The ticket seller is in a classic glass booth between the two entrances. It’s an older man with a bright smile on his face, dressed in a burgundy vest and a white button-up shirt with a matching bowtie. Castiel tells him that the ticket seller is also the owner and operator of the vintage theatre.

They pay for their tickets separately, even though Sam offers to pay for both of them. Just like Cas promised, the tickets were cheap, only six dollars a person. Castiel makes small talk with the theatre’s owner as a few more people come through to buy their tickets for the night’s premiere. Sam watches Castiel converse familiarly with the owner, his face visibly brightening when they speak about the upcoming week’s feature films.

The sky is becoming dark quickly as Castiel ushers him through the entrance doors and through a skinny hallway, revealing the large screen and rows upon rows of vintage-looking seats.

They sit near the aisle in the row with a brass number eleven on it, and Sam wonders if sitting in the eleventh row is something special to Cas or if he does it subconsciously. They sit next to each other, and Sam no longer has to wonder if they need to leave an empty seat between them. There are advertisements for local shops and restaurants are playing as previews, but they’re in black and white with a vintage film filter.

Castiel glances at his wristwatch as soon as he wrestles his coat off and folds it over the back of his chair. “It should start in a few minutes.”

Sam nods, not knowing what to say. He glances down at Castiel’s hand again and thinks it’s still too early. He mentally fumbles through a list of lame conversation starters, feeling like the worst date in the world.

“I haven’t seen this movie,” Castiel quietly admits out of nowhere, thankfully. “I’ve always wanted to, since they preserved it by putting it in the National Film Registry, but I haven’t found the time.”

“Me too. I’ve seen pieces of it, but not the whole thing.”

Castiel smiles lightly again. “Good.”

The lights dim and the sparse audience of cinephiles settles in for ninety-six minutes of a pure and classic Hollywood court case. Once again, Castiel’s eyes are glued to the screen, but Sam shouldn’t have expected anything different since he hasn’t seen the movie.

There’s pan-shots of a large courthouse with many people dressed in suits filing through the hallways. Everyone looks like an attorney or judge and they’ve got somewhere important to be, and Sam wonders if he’ll ever get to that point in his own life.

He only gets about fifteen minutes into the movie, when each of the jurors are going around the table, explaining why they believe the defendant is guilty—which makes Sam sick, in all honesty—before he glances at Cas’ hand on the armrest between them. Just a simple glance, one and nothing more.

Until a simple glance turns into three or four or perhaps a dozen, he wasn’t keeping count. Each time, he tells himself he’ll reach out and hold Cas’ hand. They’re boyfriends, for christ's sake.

But every time, he decides against it, telling himself that it wasn’t the right time, or convincing himself that Castiel didn’t want to hold hands, since they haven’t done so already. Sam is back to staring at the screen blankly, in the middle of a thought, before he feels a warm hand cover his own on his knee. He instinctively flips his over so their palms touch and threads his fingers through the others before looking over at Castiel, who is surprisingly not looking at the screen but at him instead.

“You kept staring at it,” Castiel whispers, leaning in close as to not disturb the other movie-goers. The heat of his breath on Sam’s neck and the low grumble of his voice makes Sam go a little crazy.

“Oh.” Sam feels a little embarrassed over being caught. “Sorry,” he whispers back.

Castiel gives his hand a little squeeze before returning his full attention to the screen. Sam smiles to himself, squeezing back before doing the same. 

The rest of the movie goes smoothly and with no more distractions for Sam except the heat that Cas’ hand is radiating onto his palm. The credits roll when it ends and the boy is finally proven innocent and is saved from a death sentence and the audience begins to chatter as they stand and stretch, gathering up their things before wandering back up the aisle. Sam’s heart sinks a little when Castiel lets go of his hand to put his coat back on.

The night is still relatively young when they’re back outside in the fresh air. There are still people on the sidewalks and cars on the streets, though a lot less than there was earlier in the evening. Sam half-expects Cas to shove his hands into the pockets of his coat, but instead he searches out Sam’s hand, grasping it like they did in the theatre before tugging at his arm.

“Let’s take a walk around downtown before catching the bus back to campus,” Castiel says and Sam nods.

“Sure.”

They walk in companionable silence for half a block, passing bustling restaurants and relaxed bars and a few nightclubs on the way. Sam is enjoying the heat of Cas’ hand against his and Castiel is humming a little, seemingly enjoying it just as much as he was.

They wait on the corner to cross the street and Sam decides to speak up, deciding that they can’t spend the majority of their official first date in silence. “What did you think? Of the movie, I mean.”

“I’m glad you asked,” he replies, smirking albeit with gratitude, and Sam gears up for Castiel’s full and honest opinion. “It was very good for a classic movie. I can see why it was placed in the National Film Registry. The judicial process felt very authentic and less Hollywoodized than more contemporary films.”

Castiel speaks like a true Film & Media Studies major, and an academic one at that. He continues on to talk about the use of settings, the importance of the lack of actual names used in the dialogue, and the composition of some of the most important scenes of the movie, all of which Sam is happy to listen to as they walk through the blocks of the downtown area of Palo Alto.

They eventually have made a giant square and were back to where they began, near the bus stop of the Green line where they were initially dropped off. Castiel squeezes his hand again and points out that the next bus heading towards campus would be there in only a few minutes. He must have the bus system down to a science.

The bus is just as empty going back to campus as it was on their way out. They sit facing forwards this time and Castiel continues his thoughts from earlier, speaking with an undertone of excitement about the theatre’s upcoming films over the next few weeks. Sam catches Cas’ hint, whether he meant to hint at all, Sam will never know.

“Would you like to do this again?” Sam asks tentatively. He knows the date wasn’t a bust, so he felt relatively safe asking Cas out on another one.

“Yes,” Castiel replies, squeezing Sam’s hand again.

They sit together, hand in hand, until they’re back at campus and the bus driver calls out their stop. Sam walks with Cas back to his apartment building, and they stand outside the front doors, hands still lingering together. He doesn’t want to say goodnight just yet, but he doesn’t want to ask to come upstairs, even though he’s already been there so many times before. There’s a difference, at least in Sam’s mind, between going to Cas’ apartment during the day to study together and going to Cas’ apartment at night right after a date.

Castiel clears his throat and Sam realizes they are still standing on the front steps of the building. “So, uh, I guess this is goodnight.”

“I suppose so,” Castiel agrees, their eyes meeting. His grip loosens on Sam’s hand, and Sam lets go, immediately missing it. Luckily for Sam, the heat of Cas’ palm is replaced with a warm hug. It’s over too soon, and before Sam knows it, Castiel has pulled away and is disappearing behind the doors of the lobby. 

He walks home with a slight smile on his face, ignoring any and all comments from Brady when he gets back to his dorm room.

Sam wakes up to a text from Cas the next morning, asking him if he’d like to come over in the afternoon to study together. He has a few movies to watch and write a comparison on and would enjoy the company. Sam agrees before taking his morning run around campus, making sure to leave time to shower before leaving for Castiel’s apartment.

When he arrives, Sam goes to sit in his green suede chair in the corner only to find there’s a stack of books and DVD cases piled in the seat. He looks over at Castiel, who is fiddling with the remote to the television on the far side of the couch, definitely trying to avoid eye-contact. Sam mumbles something before moving over to the couch, sitting down and spreading his stuff on the other half. He swears he spots Cas smile for only a second.

Sam grins, shaking his head at the realization that Cas planned it this way. He puts his notebook on his lap so he can take notes and lays his Ethics book across the cushion between them. 

Castiel already has a notebook on his crossed legs, ready and waiting for the endless notes that he would take during the movie. He finally successfully navigates the menu of the first film, turning on the stereo sound and the subtitles, as it’s another foreign language film, seemingly Italian from the looks of it. 

Sam is pretty absorbed in his Ethics readings until he feels something bump against his hand. Finishing the sentence he was reading, he looks over to see Castiel’s hand trying to sneak into his. Glancing at it’s owner, Sam takes it into his and brushes a thumb over his knuckles Castiel gives a little smile and goes back to staring at the television.

They sit like that for hours, Sam taking out the next assignment or book with his free hand and Castiel pausing and writing down notes with his—until Sam’s watch reminds him that he has to leave for work soon.

Sam makes sure to hug Castiel at the door before he leaves, tucking him in close and wishing him a good rest of his Sunday. “See you tomorrow,” Sam says, almost like a question while they still have their arms wrapped around each other.

“See you in the library, Sam,” Cas answers, muffled into the fabric of Sam’s jacket.

When they pull apart and Sam leaves, he wonders if he should have done something else, like hugging Cas longer or even kiss him.

His mind comes to a halt, nearly literally stopping him in his tracks in the middle of the lobby. The man working the front desk looks up when he staggers a little across the room. 

Was it too early to even consider kissing? They just began to hold hands. Did Cas even want to kiss him in the first place? Fuck if he knew.

He thinks back to his rare previous relationships. He remembers Louise in the fifth grade, which he definitely didn’t count as an actual relationship since all they did was hang out on the playground together during recess. There was Samantha in seventh grade that lasted an entire two days until she broke it off with him because everyone was calling them “Sam Squared.” And then there were several flings during high school that usually resulted in things happening in the backseat of someone’s car, but never something regular or serious.

Sam frowns, turning onto the street where his dorm building was located. Come to think of it, he really hasn’t had any experience with real relationships at all. Dating Cas was something completely new to him, and he definitely didn’t want to fuck it up.

As it turns out, Castiel loves holding hands, and Sam is more than happy to oblige him. They’ve arranged themselves on the couch during their daily study sessions so they can both comfortably do their own work and hold hands at the same time.

On Tuesday, they take a walk around campus between leaving the library after Castiel’s shift and going to his apartment to study. There’s a fall-themed carnival going on this week, and a bunch of the student organizations are hosting food tents to advertise their clubs.

Hands laced together, they wander through the sea of tents lining the sidewalk in the central area of campus, stopping periodically to get free food that sounded appetizing or to learn about the club sponsoring the tent. 

Near the end of the row, they pass The Cinematic Society’s tent, which Balthazar is working. There are also two girls working the popcorn machine in the back of the tent, cheerfully handing out theatre-style popcorn with extra butter. Castiel only waves at them as they pass by. Balthazar gives him a stare that could strike down Death itself, but Cas pulls at his arm to keep Sam walking.

“I declined the offer to work the festival,” Castiel comments as soon as they’re out of earshot. “There’s no reason for me to be stuck in close quarters with my cousin for several hours.” 

And Sam couldn’t agree more.

Castiel ends up getting an apple crepe from the Literature club, and then proceeding to sign up for it, muttering something along the lines of “I was wondering how to join…”

They split a churro from the Spanish club, and a few of them recognize Castiel from the _Pan’s Labyrinth_ screening the week before. He greets them with enthusiasm, encouraging them to join The Cinematic Society, even if they could only make a few of the films. Castiel digs through his pockets before pulling out a few slightly-bent colorfully printed brochures. He hands them out to the Spanish club students and points out the dates and times charted on the back before saying goodbye.

“Do you always carry fliers in your pocket?” Sam asks incredulously, trying to hold back a laugh.

“Maybe,” Cas murmurs, hiding a smirk while stuffing the extra brochures back into his coat before taking Sam’s hand again, leading him back to the apartment for the rest of the afternoon.

On Wednesday, they’re back to their usual routine, passing on the opportunity to go to a free Lacrosse game sponsored by the Student Government in favor of studying together in the tranquility of the apartment. Sam brings a few bottles of Castiel’s favorite root beer as they settle in for several hours. He’s starting to think he’s leaving a permanent indentation on Castiel’s couch for being there so much, but he doesn’t really care and thinks Cas doesn’t either.

He likes studying in Castiel’s apartment, even more than studying in the library. Don’t get him wrong; the library is beautiful and useful, but often a little too crowded and a little too noisy for his tastes. Sam would rather study at Cas’ place, because it’s empty and private… not at all because he can sit and hold hands with his boyfriend for several hours at a time. 

Of course not.

Sam leaves the apartment a little before seven, determined to eat dinner at the dining hall before it closes for the day.

Later that evening, Becky corners him in her kitchen during a break in their study group. Zach and Brady are still spread out on the living room floor, undoubtedly on their phones checking various social media websites like Facebook and Twitter when Becky decides to catch him alone.

“So I saw you on Saturday night.”

Sam hums as he gets some ice from the freezer and puts it in his glass before realizing where he was exactly on Saturday night. “Yeah?” he replies nervously.

“With Castiel Novak.”

He reminds himself to relax and act casual. “So?”

Becky eyes him suspiciously, crossing her arms in front of her. “Anything you want to tell me?”

“Not really?” Sam says, wondering where she’s trying to go with this conversation.

“Are you dating Castiel Novak?” She accuses, setting her glass of water down on the counter quickly, making a few drops splash onto the counter.

Sam just looks at her, trying to figure out if he should lie or simply tell her the truth. He figures it’s Becky, and if she wants to know something, she’ll find out using her own means. “Yeah.”

She grins widely, looking delighted. “I knew it!” she just about yells.

“Becky!” Sam chides, not wanting anyone else to hear.

“What?” she asks innocently before her eyes get big. “Oh, is this like… a secret thing or something?”

“Huh, what? No!” Sam replies. He wasn’t secretly dating Castiel, he just didn’t… feel the need to tell everyone…? He didn’t know. “I just really haven’t gotten around to telling anyone. We just started dating last week.”

“Oh, Sam!” She exclaims, rather quietly to Sam’s benefit. “That’s so cute. Have you two kissed yet?”

“Becky!” Sam glares at her, looking scandalized. “I just said we started dating last week!”

“So?”

“Serio-”

“Sam, Becky! Get back in here!” Brady calls out from the living room, where they’ve all settled their books in a circle on the carpet. “I’ve got places to be and girls to see tonight, so let’s get this Constitutional Law thing rolling so I can get out of here.”

“Coming,” Becky calls back, grabbing her glass from the counter and giving Sam a wink on the way out.

The thought of kissing Cas haunts Sam’s thoughts (and not to mention his dreams) for the rest of the week. He daydreams about it, wondering how Castiel’s chapped lips would feel against his and what his mouth would taste like. He even dreams that he’s kissing Castiel in bed somewhere tropical and remote and it is disorienting because he’s never been anywhere like that, not even in usual assortment of his dreams.

He thinks about it so much that it aches, and he keeps finding himself staring at Cas’ mouth when they’re hanging out, just like he did when he wanted to hold his hand. God, why did he have to be such a girl about it?

In the afternoon, Sam has trouble focusing on his notes. He catches himself staring into space or blankly at the television multiple times, daydreaming more scenarios and fantasizing about the feel of Cas’ lips and the taste of his mouth.

This needs to stop. He’ll never get anything done this way. Besides, kissing seems to be the next step in their relationship anyways.

After some brainstorming while skimming through one of his International Relations readings, Sam hatches a plan.

Sam’s watch beeps, letting them both know that he has to leave for the restaurant soon or he’ll be late. He gathers up his stuff and heads for the door to put on his shoes, with Cas thankfully in tow.

In addition to their usual goodbye hug, Sam decides to dive in for a kiss as well, taking charge of the moment. Castiel immediately grabs Sam’s wrists and steers him away, stopping Sam in his tracks.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asks, staring wide-eyed like Sam almost tried to attack him.

“I was trying to kiss you.” Sam frowns. “Unless you don’t want to,” he adds, examining Cas’ facial expression carefully. “Do you…? Want to?”

“I,” Castiel begins before pausing. He thinks for a moment, looking away before back at Sam. “I think I do.”

Sam makes a face. “You _think_?”

“I’d like to try…” Castiel admits, finally letting go of Sam’s wrists and they drop back to his side.

“Okay,” Sam smiles, relieved and amused. “We can _try_.”

Sam leans in slowly but Castiel pulls away slightly before reminding himself what he promised. Their lips meet briefly but then he pulls away, making the kiss something more like a peck. Castiel is staring up at him, bringing a few fingers up to brush across his own lips. He looks surprised.

Sam doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say at this point in this situation, so he does what he meant to do and leaves for work before he’s actually late. “Night, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Sam,” Castiel returns, still in a daze. He shuts the door behind him, and Sam makes his way back to the dorm, using the brief and somewhat embarrassing kiss as fantasy fodder later in the night. It wasn’t much of a kiss, at least in comparison to the ones his imagination have come up with, but it was real, and that automatically put it in first place.

The next night, before leaving for work, Sam slowly comes in for a goodbye kiss, and Castiel’s lips join his much faster and easier than the night before. The kiss lasts longer, and there’s more contact than their first kiss. Sam enjoys it a lot more, and Castiel apparently does too, because when Sam pulls away to say his goodbyes, Castiel tugs him back in by the arm for a second one. And a third, and a fourth and fifth, the last time with tongue.

Sam soon discovers that Castiel likes kissing a lot too, probably a lot more than he likes hand-holding. But Sam starts to notice a pattern when it comes to Cas and kissing, though. Almost like Cas has little rules to abide by when they’re together.

Castiel will only allow Sam to kiss him in private, which is more or less his apartment only. Every once in awhile, Sam will try to sneak a kiss with Cas out in public, seated in the back row of the bus or on the street corner while waiting for the light to change. He’s met with countless rejections as Cas always seems to be spooked and shies away from Sam.

Also, Sam can’t suddenly come in for a kiss without making it painfully obvious what he’s doing, otherwise Castiel flinches or pulls away. He has to wait for Cas to be ready. Usually, Sam tries to wait for him to initiate the kiss, just to be safe, but sometimes it’s hard to wait. Hell, sometimes he even has to literally ask “can I kiss you?” which really doesn’t bother him, it’s just extra work and not romantic at all.

It all frustrates Sam to no end, having to constantly try to figure out his boyfriend and make sure he’s not messing up. But at the same time, that’s just another part of Castiel that makes him who he is.

After a few weeks, Sam’s pretty sure they’ve made out in almost every room in Castiel’s apartment—except the bedroom, that door always remaining closed—in at least every way. Frantic kisses against the door before Sam has to drag himself away to leave for work. Or slow, lazy and languid kisses on the couch, sitting elbow to elbow with their books on their lap. But perhaps his favorite ones are the quick pecks between flipping textbook pages and pauses of a movie.

With or without rules, kissing Castiel tops the list of Sam’s favorite things to do.

On Wednesday, Sam’s phone vibrates while Professor Crowley is explaining ethics in a global business environment. Well, ‘explaining’ is a relative term, since all Crowley seems to do is go off in tangents barely related to the topic he’s teaching.

Sam risks a peek at the front screen while Crowley is facing the board, writing in red marker on the whiteboard. 

It’s Cas.

He knows it could probably wait, but he looks at it as soon as he can during the short break between the first half of the class and the second half.

_[I’ve been called to an emergency TCS meeting at noon. If you would like to go ahead of me this afternoon, I keep a spare key on the top of the doorframe.]_

_[No thanks. I’ll just wait for you to get out of your meeting.]_

_[If you’d like. I’ll be in the SS building.]_

When Sam meets Castiel in the lobby of the Student Services building at around half past twelve, he’s never seen Castiel so angry.

He is positively fuming as they begin to walk back to his apartment and Sam can feel the anger roll off of him in waves. He could laugh at it, really, even though he shouldn’t. It’s strange to see Castiel so upset, Sam’s not even sure if he’s seen Castiel mad yet and he’s known him for a couple of months. Usually Cas was so calm and collected, in complete control of his emotions with a deadpan expression and a steely gaze. Sure, he smiled and frowned and got frustrated, but anger… this is different.

He doesn’t know if Castiel wanted to talk about it, so he squeezes his hand but doesn’t get a squeeze back. Cas seems distracted and frustrated, raging away in his own mind. Sam decides not to push it. If Cas wants to talk about it, he will on his own.

And as it turns out, Castiel does want to talk about it. The moment they step into his apartment and the door shuts behind them, Castiel rips off his bookbag and drops it unceremoniously on the floor, huffing out a breath of unbridled frustration as he storms into the kitchen. He gets himself a glass and slams the cabinet door shut, making a ruckus as he gets himself a drink.

Sam leans on the doorframe, arms crossed and examines Cas from across the kitchen. “Can I ask what happened?”

“Balthazar!” Cas seethes while filling up his glass with water from the sink.

“What about him?”

“He’s just so… so…” Castiel fills his loss of words by taking a sip. “... stupid.”

Sam is a little puzzled his lack of more eloquent words, but nodded. “Okay. I knew that,” he tries to be funny, “but any particular reason?”

Castiel sets his glass down on the counter and leans on it. “I guess the more proper term is irresponsible.”

“What’s up?” Sam asks, voice full of genuine concern as he crosses the kitchen floor to lean on the counter in the space next to Cas. Their elbows brush and Castiel’s head jerks in his direction at the contact.

“Balthazar-” Castiel sighs, taking a breath before starting over. “Balthazar did not renew The Cinematic Society’s club membership this year. He forgot, and now the Student Council has given us an eviction notice.”

“Oh,” is all Sam can get out before Cas continues.

“We’ve been meeting in the auditorium illegally this entire time, and he knew it.”

Sam nudges him in the arm with an elbow, encouraging Castiel to get it all out.

“He may be a friend and family member, but he’s infuriating sometimes.” Castiel’s expression twists up in a combination of annoyance and fury as he slams a fist against the granite. “But then he has the _audacity_ to mention that it should have been my responsibility. That is most certainly not how this system works, and he knows it. Presidents are supposed to file for club approval, not the vice president or even the secretary. What an assbutt.”

Sam smiles a little at the strange curse but tries to remain serious. “Is there anyway to fix this?”

“It’s too late in the year to initially apply to be a club, but we could appeal because we have been a long-standing club with a relatively good record.”

“How does the appeal process go?” Sam asks, not really knowing how the politics within a university compares to what he’s learned in his classes.

“A club official must go before the Undergraduate Student Government and make the appeal.”

“So Balthazar can do that.”

“The Student Council doesn’t exactly like Balthazar. Especially after this. I’m afraid if he were to make the appeal, the club status would never be reinstated,” Cas sniffs, gripping his glass of water with white knuckles.

“So then you could do it. You’re next in line, the vice president.”

Castiel’s head whips around and their eye’s meet. He looks a little scandalized at Sam’s suggestion. “I don’t think I’d do a good job. I’m not a public speaker in the least,” he confesses, frowning in disappointment in himself.

“The Secretary?” Sam offers.

“I’m not letting the responsibility of saving the club fall on Ed Zeddmore,” Castiel replies with disdain.

“Then…” Sam shrugs sympathetically. “I guess you have your answer.”

Castiel exhales slowly, coming to the same realization, much to his dismay. “I suppose I do.”

Setting his glass down, he pushes off the counter and turns to stand in front of Sam, whose eyes follow his every move. Sam reaches out and pulls Castiel in closer, lips meeting for a tender kiss. Their eyes flutter shut, and all Sam can focus on is Castiel, right before him like he’s the only thing in the world.

“Thank you,” Castiel says between kisses, sliding a hand through Sam’s floppy hair, “for listening.”

Sam hums, ducking down and pushing their lips together again, but Castiel’s strong hands land on Sam’s chest, slowing them down.

They pull apart a little, and their eyes find each other again. “I’m sorry for unloading my problems on you,” Castiel apologizes again.

“Don’t apologize,” Sam replies while nipping at Castiel’s lower lip. “Anytime you need to do that, you can come to me.”

Sam can feel another ‘thank you’ in the next kiss, unsaid but infinitely more heartfelt. Castiel pulls away completely, and Sam already misses his warmth in his arms. He stands up and his back suddenly feels sore where he his back was digging into the edge of the countertop. Their gaze lingers on each other for just a small moment before Castiel reaches out and takes Sam’s hand in his.

“Come on,” Castiel pulls at Sam’s hand, towards the living room. “I am watching _House of Flying Daggers_ today.”

The next morning, Sam’s phone vibrates in his pocket just as he sits down for his second class of the day, Global Justice. The professor, who is very strict on using phones in his class, hasn’t arrived yet so he pulls it out, hiding it under the desk just in case.

_[I have scheduled an appeal hearing with the Student Council for 2:30 this afternoon.]_

_[Great! Are you prepared?]_

_[Prepared? Yes. Ready? No.]_

_[You’ll do fine. I’m sure they’ll side with you and let the club meet again.]_

_[I’m fairly certain they will, as well. But because of my relation to Balthazar, I’m still nervous.]_

_[Better you than him.]_

_[Or worse, Ed Zeddmore.]_

As soon as he’s released from class, Sam immediately heads towards the Student Services building, hoping to catch Cas before his appeal meeting begins. Sure enough, Castiel is pacing in main office’s waiting area, wearing his usual trench, suit, and messily-tied necktie.

Castiel freezes in place, mid-pace, when he sees Sam walk through the door. He’s surprised at first, but gives Sam a nervous smile anyways.

“Why are you here?” he asks as Sam approaches, looking at him questioningly.

“Moral support,” Sam replies, coming to a full stop to stand next to Cas. The clock shows that there’s about nine minutes until his scheduled meeting.

Cas’ eyes narrow, a little confused, but appreciative anyways. “You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to,” Sam says in full honesty. He knows that this is important to Castiel, and that as both a boyfriend and a friend, Sam should be there for him.

“Hold still.” Sam reaches out to fix the tie. Sam jiggles the knot back and forth, trying to make it at least somewhat presentable. “You’re shaking,” Sam comments, noticing the little trembles in Cas’ shoulders.

“As I’ve said before, I’m not one for public speaking,” he grumbles, “or speaking to strangers in general.”

Sam tightens the knot and straightens it, looking up at Castiel, whose eyes are watching him intently. “You talked to me. I mean, we were strangers at Gabriel’s party.”

Castiel’s gaze darts to the side nervously. “You were different. I _wanted_ to talk to you.”

Sam tilts his head, fighting back the urge to kiss him right in the main office of the Student Services building. His cheeks feel a little red, and he realizes he hasn’t said anything yet.

“Uh,” he begins, thinking about changing the subject, “just imagine everyone in their underwear?”

Blue eyes whip their attention back at Sam and Castiel grimaces.“That would be unpleasant. But I appreciate the suggestion.”

“Mr. Novak? Mr. Castiel Novak?” the student receptionist calls out from behind the desk, which is actually pointless as they’re the only people in the office. Castiel steps forwards instinctively but pauses to turn to Sam.

“The Council is ready for you now,” she chirps, pointing to the door at the other end of the waiting area.

Castiel’s eyes dart nervously between the door and Sam, as if going through the door was like going through a portal where he’d never return. Sam takes the opportunity to quickly pull Castiel in by the arm for a reassuring hug. Sam rubs his hand up and down his back, but he isn’t sure it works as planned because when they part, Cas is still just as tense and nervous as before.

“It’ll be fine,” Sam says again, just as Castiel is closing the door behind him, stealing one last glance before disappearing.

The receptionist leers at Sam from behind the desk, raising her eyebrows at him. Sam glares back at her for a short moment, taking a seat and pulling out a thick book he was just assigned for International Relations.

His thoughts wander away from foreign arbitration and hegemony, curious as to what is happening behind the mysterious door. He wonders what kinds of arguments or pleas Castiel is making, and if he is going to be successful or not. Sam hopes the Council approves the club’s request for reinstatement, it would tear Cas apart if they didn’t.

Cas’ appeal hearing only takes about fifteen minutes, and he steps back through the door into the waiting room, looking more than a little spooked.

Sam stands as Castiel comes to join him. “Well?” he asks, looking pointedly at Cas. “How was it?”

“Nerve-wracking,” is his only reply, walking straight past Sam towards the door to leave.

Gathering up his book and backpack, Sam follows Castiel out of the building. He catches up with him quickly with long strides and threads his fingers into Cas’ own. Sam notes that his hands are clammy and trembling a little. He brushes a thumb comfortingly across Castiel’s knuckles before trying again. “So, how did it go?”

“They will take the club’s status into deliberation and email their verdict to both Balthazar and myself when it has been settled,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone, but Sam can still hear the shaking in his voice.

“What, so they have to talk it out?” Sam’s surprised. It should be a pretty easy and fast thing to debate, and with their innocent track record and Castiel’s (hopefully good) appeal, the decision should be simple. But as he’s learning in class, the system is never that easy.

“Yes. They should come to a conclusion in less than a week,” Castiel mutters, kicking at the pavement as they walk towards his apartment. “But right now, I just want to go home and not think about the possible outcomes.”

Sam nods silently, understanding the request. Castiel just faced a fear of his and needs a few minutes of peace.

It is quite admirable, really; Cas wasn’t a fan of public speaking, and he fought for something that was very important to him. Sam wonders about how well Castiel does with his presentations in class, but figures that Castiel probably only ever gives speeches about something pertaining to movies and literature, something that made him very comfortable.

As they walk down the sidewalk, leaving the borders of campus, Sam realizes that Castiel’s fear of public speaking and strangers made a lot of sense in context. When they first met, Cas was reading a book at a _party_. He played it off like he was bored at Gabriel’s party, but now Sam knows better. He was uncomfortable in the kitchen amongst all the people, and if Sam would have known him at the time, he would have been able to tell. Castiel also turned down every opportunity to introduce the weekly film at The Cinematic Society club meeting, giving the supposedly-vice-president job to Balthazar. 

Sam is fairly sure there are plenty of other examples, but his trail of thought abruptly ends.

The minute the front door of his apartment shuts, Castiel drops his backpack to the floor with a thunk and spins to face Sam. He closes in quickly, roughly pulling Sam down by the collar of his hoodie into a kiss, noses nearly colliding in process.

Sam’s surprised at first, but his arms wind their way around Cas’ waist, pulling him in closer. He can tell that something’s pent up in Castiel—frustration, perhaps—and he feels the evidence in the way Castiel’s lips move wildly against his.

After several long moments later, Cas’ hands lighten their grip around the fabric of Sam’s hoodie. His lips slow and the kiss becomes more lazy, lingering more and more with each brush. Sam can feel his cheeks reddening with the friction of Castiel’s stubble, not that he’s ever minded a little beard burn if it meant he was making out with his boyfriend.

Castiel pulls away from him, burying his face in the crook of Sam’s neck, and Sam has never been more thankful for being ‘absurdly tall,’ as Becky once called him. The hot breath against his neck feels amazing, and they naturally default into a tender hug, Sam’s broad hand rubbing small circles across Castiel’s tense shoulders. He smiles as Castiel finally begins to relax in his arms.

“Can I get you a drink?” Castiel murmurs before standing up straight, stepping out of Sam’s reach and motioning toward the kitchen. Sam shakes his head and Cas disappears into the kitchen.

Sam is settled with his books on the couch by the time Cas emerges with a glass of ice water and two aspirins.

“Headache?” Sam asks in concern as Castiel downs them in one swallow, following it with a gulp of his drink.

“A little.” 

_‘More like a lot,’_ Sam guesses.

Leaving his bookbag untouched on the floor in the front hallway, Castiel sits very close to Sam on the couch, drawing his legs up towards his chest and lacing his fingers through Sam’s. 

Sam is a little perplexed when Castiel forgoes putting anything into the DVD player and begins flipping through the cable channels absently. He stops on the Channel 6 News, where a pretty brunette anchor is telling a riveting story about a dog who saved two people from a car accident near San Jose, before continuing onwards, browsing through the hundreds of channels.

“No movie?” Sam asks, looking between the television and Castiel, who shakes his head. Sam looks back to his Ethics book on his lap, resigning himself to not get many more answers from his boyfriend for the rest of the afternoon.

His Ethics readings are hard, and Sam could pull out his own hair in the process of just trying to understand it. The subject should be so easy, but somehow Professor Crowley makes both Ethics class and his life a living Hell. It takes him nearly a full forty-five minutes to read half of an article, and he’s still confused about what he just read. It’s utterly frustrating.

The television is still playing the news, but Sam notices the channel hasn’t been changed in a good twenty minutes. He looks over to Castiel, who is peacefully dozing next to him. They’re still holding hands—Castiel’s grip hasn’t let up much even though he’s sleeping—and it makes Sam smile.

It seems that all of the tension and worry has disappeared out of Cas’ face, and now he looks placid as his head lolls back against the couch, quite uncomfortably. Sam’s eyes graze over the rest of Cas’ features, admiring his pink chapped lips, slightly parted, and the one-day stubble that littered his his square jaw.

Castiel mumbles something in his sleep, shifting a little in his seat in an attempt to get comfortable.

It’s been a stressful day for him, and Sam knows he needs this nap more than ever. Just looking at Castiel’s position on the couch makes Sam’s back hurt, and he knows Cas probably didn’t want to wake up feeling like he was twisted. He tries to unlatch Castiel’s grip on his hand, but is unsuccessful.

Instead, he decides to grab ahold of Cas’ waist with his other arm, maneuvering him into a more comfortable position. The man stirs but doesn’t wake, and Sam mentally notes that Cas sleeps like the dead. 

Laying on his side, stretched along the length of the couch, Castiel looks more relaxed and comfortable. Their hands are still linked, like an unbreakable bond, and Castiel pulls Sam’s hand to his chest, pulling him in.

Sam ends up laying next to Castiel, ignoring his impossible Ethics readings splayed across the coffee table in favor of not disturbing his sleeping boyfriend. There’s a several-inch gap between them, as Sam doesn’t know if Castiel is comfortable with this in the first place.

Man, he really should just get up and move.

Sam considers it for a moment, but the decision is made for him when Castiel sighs in his sleep, snuggling forwards into Sam’s chest and closing the space between them. They finally let go of each other’s hands—Cas’ hand is tucked in the warmth between them while his own envelop Castiel’s waist.

The smaller man is like a radiator, giving off an unbelievable amount of heat in the cool air conditioned apartment. The puff of Castiel’s breath against his neck drives him a little insane, his pants somehow becoming tighter as he starts to gain an erection.

 _‘Not now,’_ he tries to scold himself, thinking of little old ladies at the grocery store and Professor Crowley’s ugly mug. It would be one of the most awkward moments of his life if Cas were to wake up with Sam’s boner jutting into his hip. It takes a minute or two, but it works, and Sam swears to all that is holy that he’ll never picture old ladies and Crowley ever again.

They lay together, relaxed and Sam listens to the rhythmic sound of Castiel’s breathing against the base of his neck and the feel of his heartbeat against his chest. Sam’s eyelids droop, getting heavier and heavier as he feels a nap coming on. He tries to fight it, but eventually gives in, joining Castiel in his slumber.

The next thing he knows, his watch is beeping loudly—a sign it has been beeping for quite awhile now—and Castiel is moving.

Moving and on top of him.

When he opens his eyes, Sam is immediately met with wide blue ones right in his face, as Castiel comes to realize what is happening. Somehow, during their nap, they rolled—Sam onto his back and Cas onto… well, onto Sam. Realizing Castiel is still trapped in his embrace, Sam releases him.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel apologizes, pushing himself off of Sam to sit on the end of the couch. “I don’t know what happened. I didn’t mean-”

“No, no. It’s okay,” Sam tries, sitting up. He rubs his eyes and turns off his watch alarm. “Shit, I’m late.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says again as Sam stands up quickly to gather his stuff up. If he catches the next bus in two minutes, he’ll only be fifteen minutes late. It’ll be the first time he’s ever been late in the one and a half years working at the restaurant, so hopefully Ellen doesn’t flip out at him over it.

They say their goodbyes at the door, quickly and quietly. As soon as Sam is out of the building, he’s basically sprinting towards the nearest bus stop.

He just narrowly catches the Red Line bus and takes a seat in the back, willing the vehicle to magically move faster. His phone vibrates in his pocket, a text from Castiel already.

_[I’m sorry I fell asleep on you. I don’t normally take afternoon naps unless it is during exams.]_

_[It’s alright. I fell asleep too.]_ He types up another one without waiting for a reply. _[Besides, it was nice.]_

_[What was?]_

_[Sleeping with you.]_ Sam frowns at the words, deleting ‘with’ and replacing it with ‘next to’ before sending it.

_[Oh. I thought so too.]_

_[Maybe we can take another nap together sometime.]_

_[I think we could work that in.]_

Sam finds himself smiling for the rest of the night, even if Ellen is a little bit ticked that he’s late.

Sam’s time with Castiel is always the highlight of his day.

Together, they nap, they study, they watch movies, they go on dates, they _kiss_.

But they never move past kissing, and it’s nearly killing Sam. He wants to do more, but he’s just unsure if he and Cas are on the same page. He decides to take it slowly, hinting at it would probably be the second-best bet, after asking Castiel directly, which was apparently ‘unromantic’ according to Becky. 

Seriously, she needs to mind her own business.

He starts hinting on Saturday, during their pre-date study session. Sam makes little gestures, like brushing a hand up and down Castiel’s arms or linger a hand on his waist after a mid-movie make out. He seems to like the contact, so Sam decides to make a bolder move before he’s supposed to leave for the dining hall. 

If everything goes according to plan, maybe he’ll skip dinner. Not that he’ll mind it, of course.

They’re in the middle of a heated kiss in the kitchen doorway when Sam weaves a broad hand between the waistband of Castiel’s pants, skimming his fingers against the smooth skin of Castiel’s back and the gentle slope of his ass. He rubs in soft circles, traveling a little higher and a bit lower as the kiss went on.

Castiel makes a little noise, and Sam takes it for something pleasurable. His hand travels a little lower, giving small teasing squeezes and reaches for-

Suddenly, Castiel’s hands wrap around his biceps, fingers pinching him hard enough to bruise.

“Wha-” Sam pulls away quickly, a mixture of shock and confusion. “Cas?”

Castiel shakes his head violently, pushing at Sam’s chest and arms until he’s down the hall and through the front door, standing out in the hallway of the building. Sam gets a only a tiny glimpse of Castiel’s incredibly upset and panicked expression before Cas slams the door on him, the noise reverberating down the otherwise quiet hall.

Sam’s heart drops. _‘What the fuck just happened?’_

He spends his walk home thinking about it, replaying the scene over and over in his head. Their kiss was amazing, at least in his mind. Castiel seemed to like it too, at least at the beginning before the pinching started. So it wasn’t a bad kiss...

But maybe it was an unwanted kiss? Sam thinks again, but then shakes his head. They were still in Cas’ apartment, in the doorway to the kitchen, so it should have been fine.

He ponders it for the rest of the night, trying desperately to fit the puzzle pieces together to figure out what he had done to make Castiel so upset. He’s laying on his bed, still in his clothes and staring at the ceiling blankly while deep in thought when he gets a text. He scrambles to find his phone among his things, hoping it’s Castiel.

It’s not. Sam frowns. It’s two texts from Gabriel.

_[What the fuck did you do to my little brother?!]_

_[You promised!]_

Sam slams his phone shut, not knowing if he should even respond to that. Gabriel might just make matters worse, especially since Sam doesn’t even know what the hell happened in the first place.

But then again, Gabriel probably knows more about Castiel than Sam does. And if he knew about something that only happened twenty minutes ago, he might know what’s up. He flips his phone back open, carefully typing out a response to Castiel’s brother.

_[I don’t know what happened! He suddenly got upset with me!]_

Sam knows it had to do with their kiss, but he wasn’t about divulge that kind of information to Castiel’s older brother. The phone buzzed in his hand and another angry text flashed on the screen.

_[You MADE him upset by feeling him up! YOU’RE FEELING UP MY LITTLE BROTHER.]_

_[I thought it was okay! I didn’t know he’d get like this.]_

_[You dickhead! Castiel is asexual.]_

Sam stares at the word, trying to figure out what it meant in this context. Usually that word was reserved for biological reproduction, but Castiel wasn’t algae or fungus. He wants to laugh at the thought, but right now he’s too distressed.

_[He’s what??]_

_[Look it up, Redwood. This is your problem to fix, not mine. But if you hurt him any more than you already have, I’ll have your head on a platter and serve it as a party snack!]_

Sam groans at the threat. He did not want to be put on Gabriel’s shit list. Resigning himself, he rolls over, reaching around and searching the floor for his laptop. He searches the term ‘asexual’ on Google, but as expected, the top results are from informational biology sites. He changes it to ‘asexuality’ and a page of entirely new results shows on his screen.

From first glance, it seems that asexuality is an actual sexuality, or lack thereof if Sam wanted to get technical. Interested in the definition and motivated by the fact that Gabriel says that Castiel is asexual, he decides to research it further.

He’s never heard of the term used in this context before, but suddenly there are thousands of people out there that identify the same way. He spends a good chunk of his night reading pages upon pages of studies done and surveys taken about asexuality, as well as reading threads on forums and a few rare news articles. There are so many types of sexuality, and while Sam knew he is bisexual with a preference for women, Sam has no idea where Castiel fell on the spectrum of asexuality.

Somewhere along the line, he falls asleep with his laptop open on his bed, and in the morning, he’s more than a little thankful he didn’t roll over it while he slept.

Sam reaches around for his phone, buried in his sheets and texts Castiel.

_[We need to talk.]_

Shit. That was probably the wrong way to start a conversation after a relationship disaster. He quickly sends another one.

 _[Just about what happened last night.]_ Yeah, like that made it sound any better.

A text comes back rather fast, Castiel must be awake.

_[I’m sorry.]_

Sam frowns. He wants to speak to Castiel face-to-face to make things right, but he has to tread carefully to make sure he doesn’t royally screw things up past the point of no return.

_[There’s nothing to apologize for. Can we just meet to talk in person?]_

_[Yes. Are you available this afternoon to meet at the coffee shop?]_

Just after one, Sam strides into the campus coffee shop and quickly glances around the sitting area. There’s only a few students inside, enjoying their caffeine as they read or study on a lazy Sunday. 

He spots Castiel in the corner, sitting at a two person table next to the window. He’s got a paper cup full of black liquid, no doubt with nothing added and strong as hell. It’s a little reminiscent of the first time Castiel and Sam hung out after they met, and it tugs at the corner of Sam’s heart a little.

Castiel glances up from his cup in his hand as Sam approaches, not smiling or making any sort of expression at all. Sam sits down right away, putting his small messenger bag on the floor between his feet.

“Cas-”

Castiel interrupts him. “Don’t you want coffee?”

“Already had some at lunch,” Sam responds, trying not to sound snippy. He sighs, trying to collect his wits about him before trying again. “Cas, listen-”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel spits, starting to look upset again.

“No, no,” Sam soothes, confused about why he’s apologizing.

Castiel rubs his forehead with the hand that isn’t gripping his coffee cup like a vice. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you… that I’m… I’m…” He trails off, looking more and more distressed by the second. It hurts Sam’s heart to see him like this, he misses Cas’ smile already and is desperate to get it back.

“Asexual?” Sam tries filling in the blank, hoping that is what Cas was going for.

Castiel’s attention snaps up, his eyes finally meeting Sam’s for the first time during their meeting. The corners of his eyes are watering slightly, shining in the low light of the cafe. “How did you know?”

“Your brother told me,” Sam says honestly after a short pause. He couldn’t take the credit, he didn’t notice it himself until it was too late.

“Oh.” Castiel relaxes, exhaling a much needed sigh. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“I don’t know why you keep apologizing. I didn’t know-”

“Because I didn’t tell you. I should have told you right away that I’m asexual,” Castiel says, nearly scolding himself. “But I was afraid.”

“Afraid? Why?” Sam prods gently, not letting his curiosity overpower his concern.

Cas’ eyes dart away from Sam, frowning as he can’t seem to meet Sam’s eyes with his usual unnerving stare. He looks uncomfortable, foot tapping against the floor between them like he was about to flee the scene. “Everyone I date immediately dumps me after they find out, and I was just afraid of losing you… So I didn’t tell you.”

Sam sits wordlessly as Cas’ words hit home. There is just so much to think about. Sam didn’t know what hurt him the most: the fact that every person who’s ever dated Cas dumped him because of this one reason or the fact that Castiel was afraid of telling Sam because he thought Sam would heartlessly reject him.

With either thought, Sam’s heart sank.

They still sit in silence, Sam trying desperately to collect his thoughts into one cohesive bundle and Castiel sits and frowns into his coffee.

“I just have one question,” Sam starts, and Castiel looks back up at him, nodding for him to continue. “Where does that leave us?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” he clears his voice. “Do you like me?” Sam asks, immediately knowing it was a stupid question to ask in the first place.

“Of course!” Castiel exclaims defensively. “Just… not like _that_.”

“‘Like that’?”

“Sexually.”

“Okay. But?” Sam prompts, wanting to understand him clearly and completely.

“But…?” Castiel tries to figure out what Sam is asking. “Oh, but I like you romantically.”

“Ah, okay.” Sam nods, like he understands everything completely even though he really doesn’t. He knows he should ask more questions, especially since they’re already in a relationship and Sam is determined not to lose it.

“So you don’t…” Sam stops, trying to think about how to word ‘do you find me sexy’ without sounding like a dick. “...want me?”

He wants to facepalm so badly. Smooth, Sam Winchester, very smooth.

“Uh,” Castiel says before Sam tries again.

“I mean, you don’t want to have sex with me?” He has to be blunt to get a straight answer, but it all sounds so stupid to say out loud. Usually people don’t have to talk about these things, they just kind of happen.

“No, I don’t.” Sam frowns impulsively and Castiel feels the need to keep talking. “I like you, and I want to be with you, but just not sexually. I’m sex-repulsed, so not only do I not experience sexual attraction, but I’m not interested in sex at all.”

At Sam’s silence, Castiel feels the need to add on. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Stop apologizing!” Sam thumps his fist against the table, making Cas’ coffee jump in his cup. Castiel looks a little startled, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of Sam. “I’m sorry, but you never ever need to apologize for something like this. If this is who you are, then it’s not a problem. All those other d-bags who dumped you for being who you are need to go to Hell. They are the people missing out on someone great.”

“Sam… What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he considers his words wisely but comes up short, “it’s okay.”

Castiel shoots him a half-confused, half-surprised look. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Sam says definitively, smiling.

Sitting back in his chair, Castiel looks around the cafe frantically before returning his gaze to Sam. This time it’s Cas’ turn to ask a question. “What do you mean by ‘okay’?”

“I mean, you like me and I like you too. So…” Castiel looks at him dubiously from across the table, and Sam decides to continue. “And I want to stay your uh, boyfriend. Even if you don’t like me ‘ _like that_ ’.”

“You do realize what you’re saying, right?” Castiel looks like he doesn’t believe Sam’s words.

“That I’ve just signed myself up for a committed non-sexual relationship?” Castiel nods, eyes wide in awe. “Then yes.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Castiel seems really bent on convincing Sam to leave him. “You don’t have to give up this much for me. It’s unfair to you.”

“I guess you’ll just have to let me decide that for myself,” Sam says with a genuine smile. Castiel returns it warmly and suddenly Sam’s day just turned ten shades brighter, most of his worry and stress flowing out of him. “I’m going to get coffee, and then we’ll go for a walk, okay?”

Sam waits for Castiel to answer, making sure that he wouldn’t leave while he was getting coffee. Castiel nods again and Sam goes to get himself the largest Americano he can afford with his meal plan.

Their walk after their talk is awkward and silent, but Sam at least feels a little more at peace with things between him and Cas. The previous night was an absolute disaster and he is still unsure if things would go back to the way they used to be, but that is a problem for another day. He was back with Cas—a happy Cas, holding hands with him as they walk leisurely around campus, drinking the rest of the coffees together.

Sam stops Castiel from escaping into his apartment building by holding both of his wrists gently, spinning Cas to face him on the doorstep. Castiel meets his gaze with bright blue eyes, looking a little awkward and confused and as cute as ever.

“Can I kiss you?” Sam asks, unsure of what kind of answer he’ll receive but willing to take the chance. Castiel inhales sharply and glances around the empty street to look for anyone who might see. Finding no one, he closes his eyes and sighs softly.

“Yes,” he says, yielding to Sam’s request even though it went against one of his self-given rules.

Sam dives in quickly at first, but then slows down as their lips close in on each other. It feels like their first kiss all over again. They brush together—Sam notices that Cas’ lips are especially chapped, no doubt from biting them all day and night due to stress—before pressing them against his lips fully. It’s definitely the softest kiss Sam has ever given. His hands stay put this time, still gently wrapped around Cas’ wrists. At the end of the unfortunately short kiss, he lets them go.

Castiel excuses himself for the evening and disappears behind the doors into the lobby, leaving Sam on the doorstep.

At least Sam’s walk home today is better than last night’s. When he gets home, there’s no snarky date comment from Brady. Instead, his roommate is passed out face-down on his bed, drooling and snoring louder than a train. Sam snickers at the sight, wondering if he should get out his phone and snap a recording quick for a little friendly blackmail later.

Not even bothering to dig out something to snack on, he crawls into bed but it takes him a few hours to fall asleep. His thoughts are plagued with a million worries about the events of the last few days and what he’s learned. 

He learned his boyfriend is asexual. He learned what asexual meant. He learned that that Cas was afraid to tell Sam about it because he had been dumped over and over again because of it. He learned that Cas was definitely interested in him, just ‘not in that way,’ and that Sam agreed to be in a relationship with him anyways.

Sam rolls over in his bed to stare at the ceiling.

 _‘Wait. Did I just swear off sex?’_ Sam thinks, surprised he could have given something like that up. He liked sex and intimacy, romantic or not. How could a guy his age give that up? But then it hit him.

He liked Cas even more.

Sam rolls over to face the wall, grabbing his pillow and covering his head and ears with it. Whether he was trying to avoid his thoughts or Brady’s snoring, he couldn’t tell which.

At seven sharp, Sam wakes up groggily the next morning to another text awaiting him on his phone. He checks it, hoping it’s someone he actually wants to talk to, like Cas or Becky. It’s not.

_[You fixed your little problem. You’re off the hook… for now.]_

Vaguely ominous and moderately threatening, as expected from Gabriel. Sam wonders if Castiel is sharing the details of their relationship with his brother, but if that’s the case, he honestly doesn’t want to know the truth.

Over the course of the morning, Sam’s professors share the details of their finals with their students, handing out study guides and sheets with example questions and essays on them. He knows Constitutional Law is a guaranteed A, but his Global Justice professor is known for throwing a curveball at them during finals.

He can only begin to imagine what kind of shit Professor Crowley will put on his final exam. He shudders at the thought, thankfully he has a few weeks to prepare.

Sam sits at his usual table in the basement of the library, anxious to see if things between Castiel and him have changed since the weekend. As always, Castiel comes by after his shift and Sam is packed and ready to go, even if it’s only to go back to his own dorm. 

Instead, they walk together back to Castiel’s apartment, just as routine. The stack of DVDs and books are still on the armchair, so Sam joins him on the couch.

Castiel still wants to hold hands while doing homework, so that’s a good sign. Sam is halfway through planning out his final paper for International Relations when he realizes that Cas has paused his movie and is staring intently at him.

Closing the distance between them, slowly but surely, Castiel comes in for a small kiss. It’s shy, only a peck of their lips. Sam immediately wants another, but Cas has already pulled away and resumed watching the movie. He smiles, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand, who returns the motion immediately.

As far as Sam can see, all seems right with the world.

As they spend time together, things don’t feel as different as they should have felt. They still hold hands all the time, and Castiel has become comfortable with kissing again, so really, Sam shouldn’t be as weirded out as he feels.

He’s still worried about their relationship, thinking about how important Castiel is to him and how devastating it would have been for the both of them if they were to have broken up over their debacle last week.

It shouldn’t surprise him, though. Sam is head over heels for the guy, but he’s still so unsure of where they stand together, and if they’re going to work out. Sam’s passionate fantasies involving Castiel haven’t let up at all, and now he feels guilt over lusting over his boyfriend when he doesn’t feel the same way back.

It’s all so confusing, and Sam is unsure what to do. Sometimes he wishes he had more relationship experience, but then again, even if he had the experience, he still wouldn’t know how to deal with this type of relationship.

But this is Cas, and there’s no one else in the world he’d rather be with.

On the other hand, Castiel doesn’t seem to be acting like anything has changed at all—almost like their little disaster never happened. He’s returned to what he was like before last week, but still tenses up when Sam’s hands go anywhere near his hips or ass. Sam’s deemed those as off-limits for now, as hard as it is for him to keep his hands still.

They still study together every day, and the stack of books and DVD cases aren’t moved from Sam’s chair in the living room, thankfully. Castiel pauses and unpauses his movie—Anastasia, the ‘best non-Disney animated film’ as he calls it—taking notes carefully, while Sam taps his pen against his jaw, thinking.

There’s a loud vibrating sound which snaps Sam out of his daze, and looks over to see his phone clattering against the wood surface of the coffee table. Castiel’s eyes dart towards it, eyeing at it in annoyance before returning his attention to the television. Sam snatches it up to see that it’s a group text from Rebecca, sent to more than a dozen other people.

_[Don’t forget about the semi-finals tomorrow! Wear red!]_

Shit, Sam totally forgot about semi-finals.

Becky is an active member of Pep Club, basically a group of students who attend all the home sporting events and make up a good amount of the student section. She’s in love with school spirit and tries to share it with everyone, which eventually led her to convince Sam and the rest of their friends to attend semi-finals a few weeks ago.

Sam clears his throat. “Cas?”

“Yes?” Castiel answers, pausing the movie on a rather awkward screencap of Rasputin singing about revenge.

“Wanna go to semi-finals tomorrow?”

“Which sport?”

Sam blinks, smiling that Cas is just as out of the loop as he is. “Football.”

Castiel seems to consider it but ultimately nods.

“Great,” Sam says, typing out a reply to Becky’s text.

_[Yeah, we’ll be there.]_

_[Wait, “WE?”]_ A few seconds later, another text comes through. _[You mean Castiel? You better bring him! I have to meet him.]_

Sam rolls his eyes and places his phone into his backpack, determined not to let it bother him for the rest of the afternoon. 

They decide to meet in front of the stadium near the sports complex in the north part of Campus. Sam has dug out a crimson Stanford hoodie he won at a carnival during his freshman year out of his closet earlier that morning and a beanie, and Castiel is also dressed with school spirit in mind, wearing his Stanford sweater underneath his trench coat and a white scarf wrapped around his neck. 

Becky seems absolutely ecstatic to see them and greets Castiel with enthusiasm. “Hello!,” she greets, shaking Castiel’s outstretched hand. “It’s nice to meet you Castiel, I’ve wanted to officially meet you for awhile now, even though we’re in the same Philosophy class.”

“Hello again, Rebecca,” Castiel replies, retracting his hand and shoving it into his pocket.

Becky looks between Sam and Cas, then down at their joined hands, smiling. She gives Sam a suggestive look. “Well guys, the Pep Club has come prepared! Let’s get you inside and get you some face paint and some noise-makers.”

After a four-dollar ticket each, they’re whisked away through the student entrance into a busy set of stands. Sam has never been to a football game, so the student section was new to him. The Pep Club has a table set up near the stairs, where a group of red-clad students are handing out supplies and goodies with the school name, logo, and colors on them.

Becky guides them to the table and hands them a tube of face paint and some streamers.

“It’s really not necessary,” Sam tries to explain, not really wanting to get too into Becky’s antics, but she gives him a look.

“I insist, Sam. See? Even your boyfriend is doing it!” She points over Sam’s shoulder.

Castiel has a tube of paint open, and has a dab of it on his thumb. He’s examining it, intrigued as if it was some weird foreign substance he’s never seen in his life before he looks over at Sam. He looks at his thumb, then at Sam, then back at his thumb before reaching over and smearing it across Sam’s cheek in a messy sports stripe.

“There we go!” Becky cheers. “I’ll leave you two to your painting.”

Sam looks down his nose at Castiel, who is already loading up another finger with another dab of paint. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Sam replies, grabbing a tube of paint for himself.

He manages to get a stripe across Cas’ cheek before he is attacked by another thumb, completing his face with a somewhat symmetrical smear. He has to take a step back to admire at his work. Castiel’s cheeks are now painted a dark crimson, and he can see the pink of a blush and the cold coming through the rest of his face.

Sam screws the cap back on the paint, handing it to another student waiting for a turn. “I think we should go find our seats.”

“Yes, we should,” Castiel replies, taking Sam’s arm into his own as they walk up the stairs of the stands.

They find Becky, Zach, and Brady all sitting together with a few other kids from the Political Science department, and they scoot over to make room for them on the bench.

Sam knows the mechanics of football from watching with his brother Dean over the years, but he’s always been more of a soccer fan. Stanford isn’t the best at the sport, but they’ve come so far this year that it’s nearly impossible not to cheer the team on.

On the other hand, Castiel doesn’t seem to know when to cheer or when points have been scored. Sam tries to give him a quick rundown of the rules but Castiel just decides to cheer when everyone else cheers, saying “I’m into movies, not sports.”

It’s a cloudy, chilly day but at least it’s not raining on the field. Sam’s cheeks feel rosy with the crisp early-December air. It was somewhere in the mid-forties and nearly everyone was wearing a coat, hat, and mittens. He wants to shove his hands into his hoodie pocket to warm them up, but he’s holding hands with Castiel, who looks equally as cold.

Becky has her phone out, taking pictures of nearby students dressed to the nines in school spirit gear for the school’s newspaper and their club brochures. She spins on her heels to Sam and Cas, and they stand closer, posing for a quick snapshot. At the last second, Sam plants a kiss on Cas’ cheek.

“Send that to me,” Sam tries to shout over the crowd’s cheering as they make another tackle and Becky nods, giving him a thumbs up and a smile.

Stanford puts one Hell of a fight against Berkeley, and they end up winning in overtime. The crowd is going wild, and the student section is already breaking out into their school’s song, pompoms waving and noise-makers blaring.

_‘Give a cheer for Stanford red! Throughout the land, our banner waving overhead...’_

They file out of the stadium with the rest of the students, and there’s an electric excitement in the air. Becky is chatting up a storm with two other girls dressed to the nines in Stanford gear, obviously avid members of the Pep Club as well. 

Zach catches up to them, Brady and a brunette girl flanking his side.

“Hey, we’re going to the Pub to celebrate,” Zach says, gesturing to the west part of campus where a majority of the students were heading. “Wanna come with?”

Sam looks down at Castiel, who tells him, “you should go.”

“You don’t wanna go?” Sam asks.

“I’m kind of tired.”

Sam looks back to the guys, shrugging. “I think we’ll pass for now. It’s friggin’ cold out and the Pub will be crowded.”

“You’re damn right,” Brady agrees, pulling the girl in closer, flirting with her. “Perhaps we could go warm up too, baby.”

The brunette punches him playfully in the shoulder. “Maybe in your dreams, Brady.”

“Oh-ho~!” Zach teases. “Shut down, man.”

Sam rolls his eyes and they say goodbye to Zach, Brady, and Becky. Their walk across campus is brisk, and a lot longer than it would be if they were walking from the library. They’re still holding hands as they weave through the buildings of campus. There are tons of students out and about, most likely coming back from the stadium too.

“Which dormitory is yours?” Castiel asks, speaking up for the first time since they left the stadium.

“I live over in FloMo Hall, over there.” Sam points to the south. “Near the lake.”

“I’d love to see it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’ve never seen a dorm room.”

“Then we can stop by,” Sam replies. “I should probably grab a heavier coat and some gloves if it’s gonna keep being this cold outside.”

Sam steers them a different direction, away from Castiel’s house and towards his dormitory. He spots a few of his neighbors walking into the building, sporting red-colored clothing and coming back from the semi-finals.

Sam lives on the second floor of the Mirlo house, so they take the stairs up to his hall. He leads Castiel to his door, near the end of the hallway and on the right, but pauses in front of it, looking at the knob.

Castiel squeezes his hand, looking up at Sam. “Is something bothering you?”

“I kinda wish I cleaned up a little this morning,” Sam says, a little embarrassed.

“I’m sure you are not that messy. You should see the way Gabriel lives. It’s ridiculous.” 

Sam laughs, he could only imagine what the state of Gabriel’s house was like in between parties. He jiggles the key and the door swings free, revealing his double room he shares with Brady.

His side of the room isn’t too bad. There’s some clothes in a pile at the foot of his bed, there’s a lot of things on his desk and his bed isn’t made, but it looks like a palace next to Brady’s side, which is still littered in dirty clothes and empty beer bottles.

Letting go of Sam’s hand, Castiel walks into the middle of the room and inspects the room as a whole. Sam watches nervously as Castiel looks at everything he has with the same watchful eye he uses to watch his movies. It feels like he’s baring a part of himself to Cas that he’s never seen before, but Castiel probably felt the same way when he first invited Sam over to his apartment.

“I wasn’t expecting your room to have such big windows,” Castiel says, turning to get a good look at the view.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, they were a pleasant surprise at the beginning of the quarter. “It’s kinda a good thing and a bad thing. We get a view and lot of sun, but that’s it—getting a face full of sunlight in the early morning on the weekends isn’t exactly ideal.”

Castiel murmurs in agreement, turning towards Sam’s desk to look at his books and the papers and reminders he’s taped on the wall over it. It really seems like he’s inspecting every inch, but Sam figures it’s probably finally curing his curiosity that has been building up for weeks.

“It’s pretty cold in here,” Castiel comments, rubbing his hands together now that they’re not sharing warmth with Sam’s.

“I might not be in the freshman dorms anymore, but the heaters are just as shitty.” Sam rummages through the drawers under his bed, pulling out two pairs of thin gloves. He hands the pair without holes in the tips to Cas. “Here, you can borrow these.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says gratefully, pulling them on over his hands and rubbing them together again. Sam pulls out a heavier jacket, one stolen from Dean before he left, out of the closet and pulls it on over his hoodie. “We still have paint on our faces.”

“Huh?” Sam says, glancing quickly into the floor length mirror hanging on the back of the door and seeing the red smeared across his cheeks. “I kinda forgot.”

Crossing the room, Castiel comes to stand in front of Sam, reaching his now un-gloved hands up. He pulls Sam in by the strings of his hoodie for a kiss, his hands sliding from the fabric to Sam’s neck, giving him a jolt of freezing skin. “Hey! Cold!”

“Then let’s go somewhere warm,” Castiel says, smirking while adjusting his scarf and pulling his borrowed gloves back on.

“Your place?”

Castiel takes Sam’s hand in his, nodding his head. “My place. Who knows, there might just be hot chocolate waiting there.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam squeezes his hand before reaching down with his other, picking up his backpack from the floor. “We can wash the paint off there. Lead the way.”

After a steaming mug of rich hot chocolate and wiping their faces, they spend the rest of the afternoon making out on the floor of the living room. Sam isn’t quite sure how they landed there instead of somewhere comfortable like the couch, but he thinks it has something to do with how Castiel mentioned that the floors are heated. At least the carpet is plush and soft.

Cas is currently mouthing at a particularly sensitive spot on the column of Sam’s neck, just under his ear, and it’s driving Sam to the brink.

“Cas,” Sam whispers into his ear, and his boyfriend slows to a stop, lips still touching bare skin. “You’ve gotta slow down. I can’t take it.”

“Why not?” Another puff of hot air against his neck makes him shiver.

“You know,” Sam starts awkwardly, motioning vaguely between them. “You’re making me… uh.”

“Oh! I’m sorry.” Castiel pushes away from Sam, rolling onto his back and giving him some breathing space. “I suppose I am... a ‘tease.’”

“What? No,” Sam says, turning his head to look across the carpet at Castiel. “You’re fine. I just can’t help it.”

“It’s cruel, to make you do this,” Castiel waves an arm at the empty air above them, staring up at the ceiling and purposely not at Sam. “To not give you something that you want.”

“Cas, stop. Really,” Sam protests, reaching out to cup the sides of Castiel’s face and coax him to turn to face him. “You’re not making me do anything. I might want it, but you don’t, and I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do.” His thumbs stroke soothingly across the slight stubble on his face. “So don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not fair,” Castiel tries again, eyes darting away from Sam as he tries to wriggle out of Sam’s grip.

“It is fair,” Sam insists softly, bringing their faces closer together. “I’ll never force you into anything, I promise.” 

Blue eyes are rounded on Sam and he smiles, bringing Castiel into a much-needed hug which is returned gratefully.

“Thank you, Sam.” Castiel says, nuzzling at the collar of Sam’s hoodie and savoring the combined warmth of the floor and Sam’s body surrounding his. “But you’re… vibrating.”

“What?” Sam says, confused.

“Your phone is somewhere, vibrating.”

“Oh, right.” Sam feels around all four of his jean pockets, looking for his phone before realizing it was in the front pocket of his hoodie. When he flips it open, he’s met with a picture of Castiel and himself—the one Becky took of them earlier at the football game. She must have just remembered to send it to Sam.

“Look,” he says, holding his phone up in the air so they both could see from their spot on the floor. 

It really is a good photo of them, if not the only photo of them. Castiel looks pleasantly surprised that Sam is kissing him on the cheek, and they look very much like a couple in matching red. He definitely needs to thank Becky later.

“New phone background? I think so.” Sam asks, scrolling through the settings menu.

“No,” Castiel replies, tugging on Sam’s arm, trying to dislodge Sam’s grip on his phone. “Delete it.”

“Why?”

“I look terrible.” Cas complains, reaching for the phone again. He tries to wrestle it out of Sam’s hands, but Sam retaliates, holding the phone out of Castiel’s reach with a long arm. “We could take another one.”

Sam pauses, bringing his phone into Castiel’s reach. “Yeah?” Castiel nods and Sam quickly activates the camera. He holds his phone high above their heads, making sure they both fit in the frame. They scoot closer, and Sam can feel Castiel’s stubble brush against his cheek as they pose together, not an inch left between them.

_Click._

Sam takes his free hand and holds Cas’ face, bringing him in for a warm but innocent kiss.

_Click._

His fingers slip on the camera buttons as they pull away from each other, taking another picture.

_Click._

“I’m sure one of those was good enough,” Sam mumbles, tossing his phone over his shoulder and it thumps gently against the carpet. He pulls Castiel close and steals his breath away, just like he does to Sam every day.

When Sam looks at the pictures later that night—when he’s wrapped up in a blanket in his own bed—he can’t help but smile. The first is cute. Cas’ hair is messy from Sam’s hands constantly running through it and his lips look pinker than usual and thoroughly kissed. It’s a weird angle, and Sam’s hair is splayed out against the carpet. Maybe he should get it cut...

The second picture is just as wonderful. He gets to see what Cas looks like when they kiss, and he’s pleased with what he sees. They’re smiling against each other’s lips, and Castiel looks like kissing Sam is his number one activity. Which Sam certainly hopes so.

But the third one—oh, the third one—is the best one out of the set. It was an accident, but it definitely became Sam’s favorite picture of them. It is a snapshot of spontaneity, catching them as they pulled away from each other. Their eyes are just opening, gazing into each other with looks of deep affection. It’s romantic, it’s intimate, and Sam is definitely keeping this one for later.

He sends Castiel the first picture with a message attached. _[This one turned out nice.]_

_[Much better. But what about the other two? Don’t keep them all to yourself.]_

Sam laughs and from across the room, Brady mutters for him to shut up.

For awhile, Sam notices that he’s happier than he’s ever been, and he doesn’t know what to attribute the change to. Probably a mixture of things, but most of them seem to stem from Cas.

Sam is more or less getting better grades than he did in his first year. He’s now more adjusted to college life, but he also has a quieter place to study than the library with no distractions. 

Well, except Cas-shaped distractions. He’s not against having kissing breaks every now and then.

He also enjoys his leisure time more, even though he feels like it’s not enough between school and work and sleep. Sam makes sure he has time for studying, time for work, time for Cas, and time for activities that get him out of the library or his dorm room—which just so happen to usually include Castiel anyways.

They make a point to alternate going out and staying in for their dates. They frequent the vintage theatre downtown—pretty much whenever they’re playing something that Castiel desperately needs to see—and have made a few trips to a few local museums and parks. Once they even caught the free skate day at the ice skating rink, and Sam has more than a few bruises to show for his trouble.

Brady stops making dating jokes when Sam walks into their room late at night and Becky often asks how things are going between them. Sam is glad to say that everything is going well, and he can be honest about it. 

He’s actually very surprised at himself at how well he’s doing without sex being part of their relationship. Yeah, he still has to jack off pretty much every other day, but it’s not a crime and it’s not like he doesn’t have a lot of material to work with. 

Castiel makes it pretty easy for him, at least.

Sometimes Sam likes to let himself have fantasies about his non-existent sexual relationship with Cas, even though he knows none of them will come even remotely true. He dreams of hands tracing down his spine, and a wet heated mouth around his cock and how Castiel’s voice would sound calling his name as he climaxes. He’d look undoubtedly sexy with his hair messed up and Sam wishes to bite and lick the hot breathy moans out of him.

But he has to keep this all to himself, of course, and it’s frustrating. But it’s better than what he used to do—stealing a skin mag or two from under Brady’s bed from time to time or think about the hot checkout girl at the grocery store.

Usually his only problem comes from trying to find time alone without Brady in the room to get himself off. 

But hey, first world problems.

One Thursday night, Sam is working overtime at Ellen’s restaurant for a little extra cash. He’s got a date with Castiel the next day—they’re going to Winter Fest downtown, and Cas has been looking forward to it for weeks.

His phone buzzes on his bus ride home. Fully expecting it to be Cas talking about the festival or Becky flipping out about Constitutional Law, he flips it open to read it.

His heart nearly stops. It’s a text from his brother Dean, and it is only one sentence.

_[Hey Sammy I’ll be in town tomorrow at noon so heads up]_

_‘No,’_ Sam thinks instinctively, before stopping to think. He loves his brother, he really does, but why does Dean have to visit now? He can’t say no, not really. No doubt, Dean made the trip all the way across the country from god knows where just to see him, and Sam doesn’t want to miss the chance to see him.

But what does he tell Castiel? Wait, is Dean even going to meet Cas?

Sam scolds himself. Of course they were going to meet. He wasn’t about to hide his boyfriend for the sake of his brother—or vice versa—and besides, Dean eventually finds everything out on his own. He hangs his head a little, rubbing a hand across his forehead, wondering how the hell he bring it up to Cas.

_[Hey. My brother is surprise visiting tomorrow.]_

_[That’s great, Sam. Do I get to meet Dean?]_

_[I’m sure he wouldn’t have it any other way]_ Sam texts back a little sarcastically, even though he knows it will go completely over Castiel’s head.

In all honesty, Sam hopes he can corral Dean into leaving before they are supposed to leave for the Art Festival tomorrow night. Dean rarely ever visits Sam at Stanford, and when he does, it’s usually fairly fleeting. Only there for half of a day or less.

Sure enough, the next morning at just after twelve, a familiar midnight black Impala rolls up to his dormitory building’s parking lot across the street and parks in one of the hourly spots. Sam can spot a figure get out and feed the meter several quarters before turning and entering the building.

Sam comes down to meet Dean in the lobby and finds his older brother, leather coat and all, leaning against the front desk, probably flirting his ass off with the student receptionist.

“Sammy!” he calls, smiling widely at the sight of his older brother. He strides up to Sam, giving him a short hug and a smirk. “The secretaries here are hot, man. You’ve been holding out on me.”

“It’s Sam,” he reminds Dean with a roll of his eyes. “And you say that every time you visit.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean shoots another flirty glance back at the receptionist, who blushes intensely. Poor girl, Sam thinks. “It’s true every time.”

Dean’s visits usually go like every other brother who visits. Sam shows him around campus for the fourth or fifth time, telling his brother a little about this year’s classes and professors. They walk through almost the entire campus, but after awhile, Sam can tell Dean’s not very interested in seeing the sights but more into stopping to get a beer or three at a bar.

Sam glances at his watch. It’s almost four-thirty—a little earlier than planned, but he texts Castiel to meet them at the Cardinal Bar & Pub, located just off of campus.

Cas is waiting for them in the foyer when they arrive, and he reaches out to shake Dean’s hand.

“Hello,” Castiel greets Dean formally as they’re seated at a high table in the corner.

“Hey,” he returns. “The name’s Dean.”

“He knows, Dean,” Sam says, annoyed. He frowns minutely, but Dean just shoots him a smirk across the little table and turns back to Castiel. 

Sam already has a bad feeling about this meeting.

Castiel only nods, and Sam has never been so grateful that his boyfriend is shit at reading people and body language. “I’ve heard a little about you.”

“Yeah? Good things, I hope. Sammy here has always been a little shy when talkin’ about family.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Sam coughs into his beer.

“So, since you’ve heard a little about me, what ‘bout you? Who’re you?”

“I’m Castiel Novak, a second-year Media & Film Studies major, and I’ve been dating your brother for-”

Sam nearly spits his beer back into the glass. _Oh shit._

“What? You’re dat-” Dean points a finger between them. “You guys are _dating_?”

Castiel is a little taken back, but Sam leans forwards, suddenly finding the courage to be a little challenging. “Yeah, we are.”

“No way, man. You? And _him_?” He jerks a thumb towards Castiel, as if he wasn’t sitting at their table.

“Dean,” Sam chides, feeling anger build up.

“Aw, man-”

“I can leave, if you want,” Castiel says, a little skittish. From the restless toes tapping against the leg of the barstool and the slight lines of worry forming on his face, Sam can see Cas is obviously uncomfortable.

“No, you don’t have to,” Sam tries not to snap at him before turning on his brother. “Dean, shut-”

“I didn’t know you liked boning dudes, but whate-”

“It’s not like that!” Sam snaps.

“What? So you guys _aren’t_ dating?” Dean asks, eyes flickering between them in confusion.

“We are,” Sam takes a breath, trying to figure out how to explain their complicated relationship to his brother without giving him the wrong idea or being too personal. “We’re just not… like that.”

“You guys aren’t going at it?” Dean laughs. “What? A little scared? Little guy holding out on you?”

“Oh my god, Dean. Shut the fuck up, he’s right here. Cas isn’t interested in sex.”

“How the fuck is that possible? That’s messed up-”

There’s a sound of a stool scraping across the floor, and suddenly Castiel is gone, with only a flash of a tan trench coat leaving through the front door of the pub.

“Dean!” Sam scolds harshly, punching his brother in the shoulder hard enough to make him bruise. “You fucker!”

“Dude!” Dean rubs his shoulder, looking more than just a little offended that his own brother just hit him hard in the shoulder in the middle of a bar. “What’s his problem?”

“‘What’s his problem?’ Come on!” Sam couldn’t care less that he’s making a scene in the middle of a bar. “If you weren’t such an ass, he wouldn’t have ran away! Just accept us or get out!”

“Whatever, Sam,’ Dean replies, finally relieving the teasing a little. “I don’t know how you’re survivin’ that, but whatever floats your boat.”

Sam exhales another long breath, trying to push the raging red anger down. Right now, he was mostly worried about Cas, not his insensitive, idiot of an older brother.

After making Dean pay the bill, Sam has Dean drive him back to Castiel’s apartment building because it would be quicker than walking. Their trip is short and is made in complete silence. They both keep their eyes on the road and Dean has his favorite tape in with the volume turned down low. 

Sam sighs, fogging up the window he’s leaning on. They should be talking—Sam telling his brother all about his classes and his friends and recent events, and Dean telling him the places he’s traveled and lived and the people he’s met along the way—but he just can’t even begin to think about all that right now.

His phone vibrates with a text, and Dean glances over the seat to try to see who it is before he flips it open. Sam groans and rubs a hand over his forehead. _Gabriel._

_[How many times do I have to tell you? If you hurt my brother, I will kill you. Fix it before I call out a hit squad.]_

Snapping his phone shut, Sam agrees with the threatening Party King. He hopes he can fix this, this horrible disaster. Sam can already tell his brother regrets saying anything at the bar—Dean keeps on looking over at Sam with his equivalent of an apologetic look on his face—but it’s too late. 

The damage is already done.

The Impala rumbles to a stop in front of Castiel’s apartment building. Sam says goodbye to his brother, making sure to slam the car door extra hard to make a point. Dean made his visit, he fucked it up, and he has to leave as soon as possible.

“Yeah, fine. See ya soon, Sammy!” Dean yells out the open window before driving away. Sam snaps his mouth shut before he could say something about not coming back, but Sam knows he’ll forgive Dean and want him to visit again.

After making sure the all too familiar taillights disappeared down the road, Sam heads straight upstairs, waving at the day-shift front desk worker as he passes by. He takes the stairs two at a time, rushing quickly.

“Cas!” he calls through the thick door, roughly knocking on it. “Cas, open up! It’s me, Sam.”

No answer.

“Dean’s not with me, he left. For good.” Well, close enough.

Still no answer.

“Listen, we gotta talk. Just open up for me, please,” he begs through the door. He can’t hear any footsteps inside, and Sam immediately searches the top edge of the doorframe, feeling around for the spare key Cas keeps there in case of emergency.

He cracks the door open a little, coming to stand in the doorway before calling out again but softer this time. “Cas?” 

The apartment is nearly pitch black, and for a second, Sam wonders if Castiel ran away to somewhere else or someone else like Gabriel. He doesn’t have to worry for long, because he can spot some light seeping through the crack underneath the bedroom door.

Sam kicks off his shoes at the door and sheds his coat, letting it fall to the floor as he makes his way through the dark apartment without turning any of the lights on. He knocks on it softly before opening it. The lamp on the nightstand is on, casting a warm glow in the room, and there’s a lump underneath the white downy comforter. “Cas?”

The lump wiggles a little in response. Sam exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding and walks as quietly as he can into the bedroom. “Cas, I’m so sorry.”

Sam moves to sit on the side of the bed, but the lump rolls over, leaving more space for him on the queen-sized bed. He takes this as an opportunity to lay down next to him. The duvet is soft, and Sam absently thinks it would be nice to have these in his dorm room.

He tries to unroll Castiel from his white cocoon, but he’s met with failure. He tries a different tactic and peels away at the layers until he sees Cas’ tear-stained face. “I’m so sorry,” Sam says again. “Dean’s an ass and… and I’m so sorry he said those things. He had no right to say anything like that.”

“I know,” Castiel replies, barely over a whisper. “I’ve heard all those things before. But, when I heard them from your brother, it just felt different. I wanted him to like me.”

“Who cares if he likes you?” Sam pulls Castiel, blanket and all, into his arms. “All that matters is that we like each other. You like me, right?”

“No.”

“Then that’s all that matt-wait, what?” Sam exclaims in shock. Did he finally fuck up what good he had in his life?

“I don’t _like_ you.” 

Sam could swear his heart stops beating as it starts to break. _Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fu-_

“I love you.”

“Wha-? Cas,” Sam says, pushing Castiel away a little so he can look at his face fully. “Do you really mean that?”

“I do.”

“I love you too.” Sam replies, smiling warmly. 

He could just about burst right now, but the body in his arms needs him right now. He brings his boyfriend closer, into an embrace and trails his fingers down Cas’ shoulders, brushing along the crisp but now wrinkled fabric of his button-up shirt. Fingertips trace sharp shoulder blades and make their way leisurely to the bumps and ridges of Castiel’s spine.

Castiel shivers in his grip, but Sam can feel the tension slowly seeping out of him as he continues to rub his back. He shifts across the mattress, closer and closer until they are within an inch of each other, heat waves bouncing off each other like hot echos. Castiel hums against Sam’s collarbone, a soft exhale while his eyes flutter shut.

They stay like that for awhile, tangled up in each other while Sam rubs the residual stress out of Castiel’s nearly sleeping body for what feels like hours. That is, until Sam absolutely has to pee. He nudges his partner awake and blue eyes are cracked open and narrowed at Sam.

“I, uh, gotta go.”

Castiel frowns, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Home?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, smiling at his obtuseness. “Bathroom.”

“Oh.” Castiel looks embarrassed for jumping to the wrong conclusions, but happy that he’s not leaving just yet. He watches Sam roll off the bed and land deftly on his feet, crossing the room to disappear to the bathroom in the hallway.

When Sam returns, he’s expecting Castiel to be dead to the world, curled up in the duvet and possibly doing that cute little snore he sometimes does when they nap. Maybe he can slip out quietly and leave Cas to catch up on some much needed sleep. They could talk about everything tomorrow morning, after emotions have died down a bit.

Instead, he’s met with a more or less awake Castiel, sitting up against the stained wooden headboard of the bed and watching him with tired eyes. Sam smiles at him from the doorway, leaning a shoulder against the frame and crossing his arms. It’s a sight he wishes he could see more often: Cas sitting in bed under the soft warm light of the lamp, patiently waiting for him to come back to bed.

“Stay here tonight.”

Sam’s eyes widen and he shakes his head in confusion, not sure of what he just heard was just in his imagination or was real.

“Please,” Castiel adds, pleading with earnest eyes. His adam apple bobs as he swallows and bites his lower lip as he nervously waits for an answer.

And _fuck_ , Sam can’t say no to that.

He stands up straight again, nodding since he can’t seem to trust himself to open his mouth to reply without saying something stupid. Castiel pushes the comforter aside and gets out of bed, padding across the soft carpet in just his socks before digging through a few of the dresser drawers for some things—some clothes by the look of it.

He wanders off into the other room, probably the bathroom to change and brush his teeth, Sam surmises. He takes the opportunity to strip down a little, at least to his tee shirt and boxer shorts. In his experience, sleeping in jeans isn’t exactly comfortable and he wishes he had a pair of pajama pants tucked away in his bag.

He’ll have to add that to the ever growing mental list of things he needs to stash at Castiel’s apartment, filed right underneath “extra work shirts” and “toothbrush + paste.”

Sam makes quick work of his jeans, unzipping them and letting them fall to the floor before stepping out of them. He’s busy pulling his Stanford sweatshirt over his head when he hear’s Castiel’s footsteps return. The hoodie falls to the ground in a quiet thud, joining his jeans and socks in a messy pile on the floor.

Cas—now dressed in a large tee shirt and blue striped boxer shorts—is standing in the doorway, just as Sam was several minutes before. He stares at him for a few quick moments, saying nothing and Sam wonders if he should have kept his clothes on. Freaking Cas out for the second time that day is the last thing he wanted to do.

But it doesn’t seem to phase him, thankfully. Instead, Castiel just snaps out of his daze, uncharacteristically throws his clothes on the floor and crawls back into bed. Sam breathes a silent sigh of relief before turning off the lamp and joining him under the duvet.

It’s warmer now, with both of them completely wrapped up under the same blanket. Their bodies gravitate towards each other, arms seeking each other out instinctively as they pull themselves close. Castiel’s body heat is increased tenfold now that they’re only separated by a thin layer of cotton.

“Sam,” Castiel mumbles, eyes threatening to close.

“Hm?”

“I am so lucky to have you.”

Sam smiles from the bottom of his heart before placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Go to sleep.”

Castiel hums in agreement, snuggling closer into Sam’s chest and inhaling his scent. He could have sworn that it only took less than a minute for Cas to drop off into sleep, but Sam doesn’t blame him. This afternoon was rough, for the both of them.

At nearly one in the morning, Sam’s phone vibrates in his pants pocket, disturbing the insanely peaceful silence of the apartment and waking him up out of a comfortable slumber. He wiggles out of Cas’ lax grip and leans over the edge of the bed, feeling around the carpet for his discarded jeans. He digs it out and flips it open, trying not to wake Castiel up with the light of the screen.

_[Heya Sammy. I’m sorry I offended your boyfriend. I know I couldn’t do it, but as long as you’re happy, go for it, man.]_

He’s basically received the equivalence of his brother’s blessing, not that he needed it anyways. Dean came, destroyed, and drifted off again, like he usually does with everywhere he goes, and now Sam was left with the aftermath.

Speaking of which, the aftermath that was finally snoozing peacefully in his arms. Castiel’s sleeping face is cute, and Sam wishes he could see it more. He’s like an angel. A gravelly-sounding, beautiful angel with stubble and perpetually messy hair.

He gently tosses his phone to the foot of the bed, determined not to let it wake him up like that again for the rest of the night. The day was already so stressful, and he couldn’t let a bad night of sleep ruin the next one.

Hours later, Sam wakes up to a pleasant sensation: warmth mixed with softness and silence. When he opens his eyes, he’s immediately met with Castiel’s bright blue ones, staring back at him half-lidded.

“Good morning,” Castiel grumbles, his voice still rough with sleep. And, _fuck_ , it was hot.

“Morning.” Sam pulls Cas a little closer, looking down at his chapped lips. Castiel nuzzles their noses together first and then kissing him sweetly on the lips. “How are you?” he asks, hesitantly.

Castiel sits up in bed, pulling down his shirt hem over his exposed stomach and sharp hipbones before rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Much better, thanks to you.”

Sam sits up next to him, running a hand through his hair and catching a few tangles. He’s still wearing the same shirt and boxers from yesterday and kind of regrets not having an extra set of clothes at hand to change into.

There’s a sliver of sunlight streaming through the thick curtains of his bedroom, casting just enough light in the room to not require the lamp or the overhead light. It casts a golden glow, and Castiel glows in it like an angel as he reaches towards Sam’s face, bringing him in for another kiss.

“I’ll make coffee,” Castiel announces just as their lips part. “Your breath stinks. I have spare toothbrushes in the bathroom drawer.”

Always so blunt and to the point. “Right, thanks,” Sam says, chuckling. 

Castiel disappears through the bedroom door and in a few moments, Sam can hear the sink turn on and the fancy coffee maker spring to life.

Taking his sweet time to get to the bathroom, Sam takes in Cas’ bedroom—the room he’s never seen until the night before. It matched the rest of the apartment, creamy white walls and beige carpet. The curtains weren’t blackout material but they were a heavy and opaque set of dark green canvas, a shade matching the couch and armchair in the living room.

One thing was certain, Castiel has a really comfortable bed. Sam wonders what Cas might say if he walks back in with coffee and Sam is already taking another nap in it. He decides against it, making his way across the room, looking at every corner.

There aren’t a lot of personal things around, not like he’s seen in dorm rooms. There’s stacks upon stacks of DVD cases arranged neatly and alphabetically under the nightstand and a few picture frames on the dresser. Sam takes special interest in them, making sure to keep an ear open for the sound of Castiel coming back.

There’s a picture of Castiel and Gabriel standing next to each other on campus, and another one of Castiel, Gabriel and Balthazar at someone’s wedding. It’s almost funny how he doesn’t look that much different in a suit and tie than what he already wears to classes. The third frame holds a picture of a girl in a cap and gown at one of Stanford’s graduations. If Sam has any guess, she must be Cas’ sister Anna, judging by her bright red hair. He’s never actually met her, but Castiel told him that she lives in Boston now after graduating from the Stanford business program.

After brushing his teeth with a bright red toothbrush he found in the drawer, Sam pads into the kitchen where Castiel is deeply inhaling the scent of his coffee like it was some sort of aromatherapy. There’s a second mug waiting on the counter, steaming hot with the amount of sugar Sam likes already added.

They stand there in the kitchen, leaning on the edge of the countertop elbow to elbow, sipping their coffees in peaceful silence. To Sam, it feels like a morning after, even though Castiel spent most of the previous evening upset and they just cuddled for the rest of the night.

They slept together—not on the couch or on the floor, but wrapped up in each other’s arms in bed. It was so unbelievably warm and the weight of Castiel in his arms felt so right. Sam wants to do it again tonight. And the night after. And the night after that.

But that is something that would need to be discussed with Castiel, who was currently staring down into his half-finished mug. Sam nudges him, bring him out of his coffee-induced trance. “Hey, Cas.”

He blinks, snapping his attention away from his caffeine to look at Sam and saying nothing.

Remembering the night before, Sam beams at him. “I love you.”

And finally, Castiel’s mouth cracks into a blissful grin. “I love you too, Sam.”

The rest of the quarter goes smoothly for them relationship-wise, but it’s still hectic because professors are now throwing out papers and projects left and right now that they’re in crunch-time. Fall quarter finals week is coming in a few days, and Sam and Castiel find themselves having to split up to get things done.

But during finals week, and while Castiel and Sam are more stressed than they ever have been before, they still find the time to spend together, though a lot less than usual. Even if it’s studying together in the apartment, usually not saying a word to each other for hours and only taking breaks for kisses and copious amounts of coffee.

Sam has gotten word that Crowley’s Ethics exam is going to be completely essay-based, revolving around Kant and his powerpoints, which at least makes it easier on Sam. He’s photocopied the necessary pages the books from friends and he has them highlighted in different colors according to topic. He’s written a bunch of practice essay questions, things that sound like Crowley would ask, hoping he’d guess right on at least one of them.

Most of Castiel’s finals are papers, but they’re all due on the same day, so he’s amped up on expensive espresso and sits on the floor, right in front of the television. He’s somehow convinced himself that he can watch most of the movies from the quarter in the span of a few days before his paper is due for Cinematic Analysis.

Both of their exam schedules end on Thursday, the second to last day of exams, meaning they both have Friday off completely. The perfect way to start break.

The days go by too quickly, and Sam finds himself scrambling to cram for his exams on Wednesday and Thursday. His first three go by relatively smooth, and Sam gets to leave the examination rooms with a feeling of confidence in his recently gained knowledge. 

And sure enough, Crowley’s exam is essay-based, but his ‘curveball’ question is actually about what Sam wrote his midterm paper on. He slams his pencil down in victory as he proofreads his exam before turning it in. The look on his professor’s face when he turns it in early is priceless, and Sam hopes he never has to take a class with Crowley for the rest of his career at Stanford.

He forgoes stopping at his dorm room to drop off his stuff and heads straight for Castiel’s apartment, using the key that normally rested upon the doorframe but has recently been moved to under the welcome mat in the hall, as per Sam's request. He lets himself in and finds the kitchen and the living room both empty. The bedroom door is wide open, revealing that the room was dark except a tiny gleam of light coming through from the gap between the thick curtains. In the shadows, Sam could spot Castiel laying on the bed, probably dead to the world.

He crawls into bed next to Castiel, who is clutching a pillow to his face. Sam drapes his body over his boyfriend’s, determined to lazily envelop him completely until there is nothing left of him.

“It’s over,” Sam says. “Finals are over.”

“Unnxtsmstr.”

“Huh?”

Castiel lifts his head out of the pillow, grumbling. “Until next quarter.”

Sam smiles at Cas’ dry humor. “Yeah, you’re right. That fucking sucks.”

“Wmmphmmnbk?” Castiel muffles into the pillow.

Sam laughs again. “What?” he asks.

Castiel lifts his head out of the pillow and tries again. “What are your plans for break?”

“I dunno, staying on campus. Working. What about you? Going home?” Sam wonders why they haven’t brought this topic up before this. Finals stress among other things is his best guess.

“I’m not particularly fond of going home. Gabriel is staying in Palo Alto for the holidays, and so am I.”

“Good,” Sam replies, threading his arms around Castiel’s body and pulling him close. “Just us for the holidays, I guess.”

Castiel hums cheerfully but sleepily. “Yes.” They lay in the bed for a few minutes, and Sam is dangerously close to dropping off into a much needed sleep before a thought occurs to him.

“Hey, Cas?” he asks, gently shaking him awake.

Castiel rubs his eyes, looking sleepily up at Sam. “You’re a cruel man, Sam Winchester.”

“Yeah, sorry, but I have a question.” Cas looks at him with a deadpan expression as he waits for Sam to continue. “What do you want for Christmas?”

Castiel sighs and rolls back into Sam’s arms, closing his eyes to sleep again. “You’re an idiot.”

“What? Why?”

“I already have it.” Castiel grips him a little tighter. “You.”

Sam smiles, squeezing Castiel in his arms affectionately. “Besides that. Is there anything you want? Or want to do?”

“Mmn… I want to sleep,” he replies, a little grumpy.

“Besides that. We should at least do something for it.”

“Don’t care. Just think of something.”

“We should go somewhere, somewhere not around here. Like a trip.”

Castiel pulls his face out of his pillow for the last time. He looks over at Sam, and curiosity replaces the tiredness in his eyes. “A trip?”

“A road trip.” Sam nods. “If you want.”

Rolling onto his side, Castiel settles himself against Sam and tilts his head to plant a kiss on his jaw. “Whatever you want,” he breathes onto Sam’s neck, causing him to shudder.

And with that, another Sam Winchester plan hatches in his brain. Cas’ distractions be damned.

It takes him a few days, but Sam is able to convince Ellen to give him the Sunday before Christmas off, so he’s left with a four day weekend. Really, there isn’t a lot of convincing in the process. Ellen nearly shoves the day off in his face when he first mentions it during one of his shifts.

“Really, Sam. You already work too much here. Go take a few days off and catch up on being a real college student.”

She’s too good to him, but that’s why Sam likes working for her at the bar and restaurant. He feels lucky to have landed a job with a boss like her.

He’s kept most of his plans a secret from Cas, who only knows that they’ll be gone from Friday morning to Sunday night and that they’ll be using his car. Sam asks him why he doesn’t drive it, and Castiel replies that he’s never really needed to with the public transit system and never really having any place to go anyways.

Sam should have figured that it would be a nice car, from seeing Castiel’s apartment and Gabriel’s house. They meet in the parking garage under Castiel’s apartment building, and Sam spots Castiel standing next to a white BMW 3-series sedan. It’s shiny, well-kept and probably rarely driven since it was bought.

They throw their bags—one of Sam’s worn duffels and Castiel’s small black rolling suitcase—into the spacious trunk. Sam goes to sit in the passenger seat but is effectively stopped by Cas, who beats him to it. There’s a little bit of a stare-off, but Castiel sighs and rolls his eyes.

“You haven’t told me where we are going, I don’t know how you expect me to drive.”

Sam blinks. “Oh yeah.”

The drive starts quiet. They keep the radio on low, playing one of the only channels not playing Christmas songs twenty-four hours a day. It’s soft rock, one of Sam’s favorites and Castiel seems to be enjoying it too.

They have the heaters blasting throughout the car, but it’s still a little chilly at first while the warm air warms the car. Once Sam is effectively onto the highway and they’re making their way through the city skirts of San Francisco, north towards San Rafael, Castiel reaches out towards Sam’s hand on the gear shift. Sam takes it, and their warm fingers lace together in the space between them, resting gently on the center console.

It’s weird, driving again. Sam doesn’t get the opportunity to do it often. Hell, he didn’t even get to drive that much back when he got his license. Not to mention he is driving a nice BMW instead of Dean’s Impala. He wants to say Cas’ car is much nicer, but there isn’t much room for comparison between the modern sleek look of the BWM and the rough classic feel of the Impala. One car has memories attached to it, and hopefully the other will gain some as the weekend goes on.

Traveling across the country as a kid, he’ll never be used to California's near constant traffic. Lucky enough for him, the traffic lightens up as they pass Petaluma and take a few roads to hop on the Pacific Coast highway. According to all the maps Sam looked at, it’s a nice highway that follows the coast of California, where you can see the rocky coast and far over the ocean if it’s not cloudy.

He wants this trip to be scenic, where they can enjoy the sights, the drive, and each other’s company outside of the usual settings of Palo Alto and campus. Sam has a mental list of places they could stop if they so choose, and of course their ultimate destination in the north.

They stop a few times, usually at Castiel’s request. They end up taking a short hike to the Vista Point in the Sonoma Coast State Park, but come back quickly because of the temperature. It’s cold, in the forties but they’re both dressed warmly and jackets and hats. Even so, the cool front coming from the ocean is chilly and the warmth of the car is too appealing.

There’s a decent looking diner off the side of the highway, one of those mom and pop places run by a family. The fact that it’s open and surviving, even thriving, is a good sign of the quality of food. Sure enough, Castiel finds a burger that he adores and Sam’s chicken salad is nothing to laugh at either, and they share a basket of sweet potato fries.

There’s an ice cream shop just across the street, and they sit on a bench facing the ocean, watching the sunlight disappear from the horizon as the sun has already set before piling back into the car to look for a place to sleep.

There’s a small motel outside the limits of Mendocino and they decide to stop for the night and get a room. Sam parks the car while Castiel gets the room, and he’s pleasantly surprised that Cas decides to get them a single king room, rather than a double room. After a lengthy make out session with the History Channel playing in the background, they fall asleep pressed up close together, leaving nothing between them but the fabric of their pajamas and the heat of their bodies.

The next morning, over a cup of strong black coffee and an everything bagel from the corner store, Sam looks at the map and estimates they have about another three hours drive left, more if they make stops. They’ll make it with plenty of time to spare if Sam keeps them on track. His hand subconsciously darts up and checks the chest pocket of his jacket, feeling thin slips of paper inside.

Castiel finishes his coffee with one last hearty gulp and sets his paper cup on the hood of the car.

“So,” he begins, looking at Sam and the map. “Where are we going?”

“I figured we’d stop in Arcata or Eureka and spend the night,” Sam answers honestly. He doesn’t know exactly which town they’ll end up stopping in, but the two are less than fifteen minutes away from each other so he thinks it doesn’t matter.

“You ‘figure’?” Castiel asks, raising his eyebrows slightly in skepticism.

“Hey! I know where we’re going,” Sam says defensively, folding the map up again and shoving it into his pocket.

“If you say so,” Castiel smiles, grabbing his empty cup from the hood and getting into the car, motioning for Sam to follow.

The rest of the drive is back on Route 101, which isn’t a coastal highway but instead weaves through forests rolling hills. Cas insists getting out at the Humbolt Redwoods State Park, even though it’s starting to rain. He calls it a good opportunity to see some of the last remaining Sequoias, and Sam admits he’s always wanted to see a redwood too.

They take a brisk walk around after parking inside, next to the visitor center. It’s all full on drizzle now, pouring water straight down from dark grey clouds. They should have brought umbrellas, but Sam wasn’t exactly expecting Castiel to want to do so much nature-hiking in December. The fog is settling into the tops of the trees, casting an eerie atmosphere in the forest and Sam feels like he walked into the beginning of a horror-survival movie.

They drive another hour to Eureka and find a cheap bed and breakfast a few minutes walk from the center of town. They settle into their room and Sam suggest changing their clothes into something cleaner and a little nicer than what they’ve been wearing all day, which Castiel responds to with a suspicious stare.

Just as Sam should have guessed, Castiel emerges from the small en-suite bathroom wearing his usual get up—a white button down, a blue tie, black pants, and his trench coat folded over his arm. Sam huffs out a laugh, wondering if there’s only three modes of fashion for Castiel: a shirt and tie, sweaters and jeans or sweatpants and a tee shirt.

Sam wears one of his nicer button up shirts, blue on blue plaid, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a brown cargo jacket over it. He didn’t bring a tie, but Castiel assures him it’ll be fine, even if he doesn’t know where they’re going.

They take a leisurely stroll around town, looking out over the Humbolt bay and in the distance, the Pacific ocean. The clouds have cleared out a little, allowing the last of the sun’s rays to shine before it dips behind the horizon. They wander a bit longer—Sam mentally cataloguing the street names for later purposes—eventually being driven to find a place to eat by the rumbling in their stomachs.

They decide on Italian for dinner, but Sam votes against going into a place called Gabriel’s, which was just too weird and off-putting to him even though it didn’t even phase Castiel. With a little further investigation and a few pointers from the locals, they find the Brick & Fire Bistro, a little intimate restaurant known for its pizza and other Italian dishes.

It’s a little more expensive than Sam is used to, but they turn around and go back to Stanford tomorrow, and it’s the last night—the most important night of their trip, the one that Sam actually has plans for. He absently reaches and touches his chest pocket, feeling to see if there was still two folded pieces of paper stuck inside. There is, and he’s relieved by the crinkle of paper in his pocket.

“You keep touching your pocket,” Castiel says, picking at his pasta and observing him from across their two-person table in the corner of the restaurant. The lights are dimly lit and cast a warm glow across Castiel’s features. It’s almost like a date scene Sam would see in one of Castiel’s movies, but it’s real and he wouldn’t trade it for anything, not even a dream. “You’ve done it all day.”

“Oh? Sorry,” Sam replies, wrenching his hand away and trying not to look more suspicious.

Castiel eyes him, glaring at his pocket like it was an offender. Maybe he has x-ray vision, Sam jokes to himself. The waiter comes by the top off their drinks and asks them if they need anything else. As he leaves, Cas clears his throat.

“Thank you, Sam,” he clears his throat again, trying to get rid of the gruff rumbly sound that Sam likes so much. “For everything. This trip has been great.”

“Yeah, it has,” Sam agrees, feeling like he is smiling from head to toe.

The trip has been amazing so far. To be honest, he was kind of worried about it, spending this much time together, even sleeping in the same bed for the first time officially. Dating was one thing, but it always ended with them parting ways for the night and giving each other space. He wasn’t sure if this road trip was going to work out well, being together around the clock.

But it did, and he’s so thankful for that. It’s nice to be with Castiel and spend time together somewhere other than near campus. Being several hours away from all that stress and pressure is freeing, and Sam almost doesn’t want to leave the next morning.

They split the check, just like they’ve done all along with their dates and all of the expenses of the road trip so far.

 _‘Until tonight,’_ Sam thinks, mentally checking himself and making sure he doesn’t feel up his chest pocket again, knowing the two tickets are still there.

The night sky is dark and cloudy as they reach the street again, pulling on their jackets as they exit the restaurant. It looks like it might rain again later, but Sam hopes they’ll make it in time. 

Holding hands and walking closer than they usually do, Sam guides them through the brightly lit streets of interesting boutiques and restaurants. They burn a little time walking a few blocks down the coast of Eureka, stopping every so often to look in the windows of a shop here or there. There are plenty of other people out and about; other couples, friends and even families are all out for a stroll, either out for a night together or purchasing last minute Christmas gifts, as the holiday was still a few days away.

They turn onto the street Sam has been looking for, and Castiel doesn’t seem to notice where they were heading, too distracted by the holiday cheer going on around them. The night is peaceful, and they can hear the distant sound of the ocean rolling against the rocky shore just underneath the songs that some of the shops are playing outside.

“Look, Sam,” Castiel squeezes his hand and points to a building just up ahead. “That theater is putting on a production of _Les Misérables_.”

“I know,” he replies simply, smiling as he lets go of Cas’ hand to dig two theater tickets out of his chest pocket.

Castiel’s eyes go wide as he realizes what Sam is holding in his hand.

“Merry Christmas, Cas.”

In a flurry, Castiel lunges forwards, taking Sam’s face into his hands and dragging him down for a passionate kiss under the marquee, breaking his own rule of only kissing in private.

“Thank you, Sam,” he breathes as they part, staying only inches away. His expression drops a little. “I didn’t get you anything. I thought this trip was our gift to each other.”

“It is,” Sam says. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t get you something extra.”

Castiel’s eyebrows scrunch together as he frowns. “That’s unfair.”

“The only thing I want from you is you,” Sam replies, taking Cas’ hand in his and leading him past the ticket booth and into the theater.

They’re one of the last people in the audience to arrive, the show is minutes away from beginning. Their seats are on the left, about halfway up from the stage. It’s a small theater, so the seats are decent no matter where you’re sitting.

Just as the curtain rises, Castiel leans over the armrest to plant another kiss on Sam’s jaw, whispering a quick thank you in his ear before returning his attention to the stage and squeezing Sam’s hand.

Several times during the performance, Sam looks over at Castiel to see if he’s enjoying it. Most of the time, Castiel is sitting as still as a rock, eyes tracking the actors across the stage. But a few times, he catches him mouthing the lyrics to the songs silently and it puts a smile on Sam’s face.

Rain is pouring when they emerge from the theater two hours later. Fellow attendees file out past them, opening their umbrellas to brace the rainstorm. Castiel takes Sam’s hand and tugs at it. “Let’s run.”

They stumble into their hotel room, soaking wet and laughing at each other. They immediately start peeling off layers. Wet hats and scarves and coats hit the ground with a soggy thump, determined to be forgotten until morning.

Castiel presses Sam up against the wall and kisses him fervently. “Sam,” he grumbles in between kisses, “I love you so much.”

Sam runs his hand through Cas’ wild wet hair, little droplets falling on his shoulders like falling diamonds. Castiel has him by the plaid collar of his shirt, and Sam wraps his arm around his waist.

“It’s no fair that you’re basically dry,” Sam comments, pulling Castiel in by the arm for a wet hug during their make out intermission. 

Castiel jerks away at the close contact at first, feeling the water from Sam’s close start to seep through the front of his shirt. “Then get a better coat,” he answers, hugging Sam back anyways.

“Or maybe I’ll just make you more wet instead,” Sam teases, holding onto him tighter.

“To be honest, I’d like to change out of these wet clothes now,” Castiel confesses, looking uncomfortable. “It’s getting cold.”

“Yeah.”

Castiel comes out of the bathroom wearing a white tee shirt and pale blue pinstriped boxers just as Sam is finished putting on his shirt. Their eyes meet from across the room and for a moment, Sam senses a light electric feeling in the air between them.

They lay on the sheets together, wrapped up in each other’s scents mixed with the smell of rain as Channel 6 News goes ignored in the background.

Sam nuzzles into Cas’ hair and loosely entwines their legs together, closing his eyes. “Did you like the play?”

“Musical,” Castiel corrects, burying his nose into the crook of Sam’s neck, “and it was lovely. Thank you.”

Sam’s hands absently rub small circles across Cas’ shoulders and back, giving a gentle massage. “What did you think of it?”

He can feel Castiel’s lips turn into a smirk against his skin. “The production was good,” Castiel explains. “I just wish they had a bigger budget for sets and costumes. They could have been truly amazing if they had the right resources.”

Sam laughs but doesn’t say a word, knowing that there was definitely more coming since critiquing movies and plays is Castiel’s thing, but he is genuinely surprised with what Castiel says next.

“The one thing that plagued me throughout the entire quarter was the one thing I enjoyed the most,” Castiel sighs contently, brushing his lips up Sam’s neck painfully slow to his mouth, bringing their lips together.

Sam deepens the kiss and abandons rubbing Castiel’s back to frame the sides of his face with his hands. Castiel’s lips are moving rhythmically against his, teeth just barely catching on his lower lip. 

He feels inexplicably warm, inside and out, spread across the sheets in the cool air of the room. Castiel is giving off massive waves of heat, as always, but it affects Sam more so than usual. He can feel Cas’ heart beating calmly as they kiss lazily, not caring about technique but more about how they feel and how the other makes them feel.

Suddenly, there’s a hot mouth trailing its way across Sam’s cheekbone, then down his jaw to his sensitive neck. Castiel has taken to biting, running his teeth across skin and giving the tiniest little nips sporadically, nothing hard enough to leave a mark. Sam stifles back a moan as Cas continues to attack his neck with his mouth, and it’s difficult for him to function enough to give anything back while Castiel does this.

Sam’s hand makes its way to Cas’ hair, not holding him there or pulling him away. He can feel tension building deep inside of him, and it snowballs every time he feels the brush of stubble, hot breath blow by, or a small pinch of teeth against his neck.

It becomes clear to him that he’s on the road to getting a massive boner, and fast if Cas keeps on doing what he’s doing with Sam’s neck. He doesn’t want to ruin the perfect night, or possibly the entire weekend, so he tries to get Castiel to lay off for a little while.

“Cas,” Sam gasps as he bites into the soft muscle at the joint between his neck and shoulder. “Yellow light, man. We need to slow down.”

Castiel continues onward, like he didn’t hear Sam even though they’re merely inches away from each other. Sam can’t seem to control his hands, still cradling Cas’ head in his palms, almost urging him on in his crusade.

“Seriously, Cas. I’m, uh-” _‘Seriously hard, right now,’_ Sam’s mind finishes as he holds back another breathy moan.

“Take it out,” Castiel mumbles against his skin before kissing a trail up to Sam’s lips again, finding his target without much difficulty.

“What?” Sam pauses, completely confused about what Cas is talking about.

Castiel breaks free of Sam’s hold, sitting up on the bed and twisting to look at Sam. He doesn’t look spooked or anxious, which really puts Sam off because he’s usually like that every time this situation comes around.

Sam is still splayed across the bed, Castiel peering down at him from his seat. There’s silence, and he soon becomes unsure of what he heard. Maybe Cas said something else.

“I said ‘take it out.’”

Or maybe he didn’t. 

“What?” Sam asks again, sitting up to look at Cas squarely in the face.

Eyelids lowering, Castiel leans in and cups Sam’s cheek in hand, diving in slowly for a chaste kiss. “I want you to masturbate.”

“I kind of already do that, Cas,” Sam jokes, trying to shrug off Castiel’s hand on his face and wondering what the Hell was going on with his boyfriend.

“No,” he explains, shaking his head. “I mean right now.”

“Uh, why?”

“Because I love seeing you like this, and I want you to be happy.”

“But I am happy,” Sam tries to argue, and it’s the wholehearted truth.

“And frustrated,” Castiel finishes as he scoots across the sheets to put himself between Sam and the headboard of the bed.

“Yeah, but I can deal with that.”

Castiel says nothing but lays against the pillows, putting a leg on each side of Sam’s waist. He motions for Sam to lay down too, against him like they’re spooning on their backs.

Sam peers at his boyfriend suspiciously. He really has no idea what is going on. Cas wants him to jack off? And wanted to watch? Where was this coming from? Everything was great up to this point, and now Sam is going off into uncharted, possibly unsafe territory even though Castiel is leading the way.

Though, shouldn’t he trust Cas? Trust in him to know what he’s doing and trust in him to be able to stop when they cross boundaries.

Resigning himself, Sam decides to go along with whatever Cas is planning, though with trepidation. He leans backward until his back is snug against Castiel’s shirted chest, whose knees are framing his hips. It’s comfortable, and Sam thinks it feels nice to be the little spoon for once.

He’s still hesitant, waiting patiently for Castiel to speak again since this is his idea, whatever it may be. Castiel shifts in his seat against the headboard, no doubt getting comfortable behind Sam. He can feel his heartbeat again, this time beating a little faster than usual against Sam’s shoulder blade.

Fingers brush across his shoulders, heat seeping through the thin fabric of Sam’s shirt. Fingertips turn into fingers, and fingers turn into hands, gripping his shoulders firmly. Castiel rubs with his palms, rolling them into the muscle connecting his neck and shoulder. Sam’s eyelids flutter shut; it feels amazing, he’s never gotten a massage before.

He’s able to ignore the slow burning heat pooling beneath his stomach in favor for the heat of Cas’ hands. Sam is torn in two, desperately wanting the massage to continue and wanting to turn around and do something for Castiel as well.

Hands slide down Sam’s shoulders, making their way slowly down his biceps and elbows and come to a solid grip on his forearms. Sam watches Castiel’s hands with curiosity and allows his own arms to be easily moved from their folded position on his lap.

Under Castiel’s guidance, Sam slides a hand over his stomach. Cas moves it in soft circles, tracing an outline of Sam’s belly button through his shirt with his own hand. But its when Castiel guides his fingers to dip below the waistband of Sam’s boxers, he gets it.

“Oh,” he mutters, face flushing pink as he moves his hand a little on his own this time. Sam moves it further down slowly, fingers skirting around his erection slowly, waiting to make sure this is exactly what Cas means.

Castiel brushes his chapped lips against Sam’s hairline again in a teasing kiss, urging Sam to continue with a gentle squeeze on his forearm.

Gripping the base of his erection, Sam starts rubbing it slowly, working up to full-length strokes. He can’t help the quiet low moan that escapes him, his senses feel heightened for some reason. He can feel the dry friction between his fingers and his dick intensely and the subtle strength in Cas’ fingers where they still grip his forearms.

Sam’s breathing quickens and he suddenly becomes self-conscious. He’s jacking off in front of his asexual boyfriend, this isn’t right. But it was his idea? This still seems so wrong. Sam’s so conflicted, not to mention naked and feeling pretty damn vulnerable at this point.

“Stop overthinking this,” Castiel whispers in his ear, breaking him out of his train of thought. A mind reader as always. 

Feeling confident and more comfortable, Sam finds a consistent rhythm, stroking himself and brushing his thumb across the tip as he usually likes. He’s trying not to go too fast, as he wants this to last as long as possible. He should feel shy, doing something this in front of another person, especially Cas.

But he isn’t embarrassed. In fact, it’s unbelievably sexy.

Castiel’s fingertips brush down Sam’s sides, tucking them under his shirt and hiking it up his chest and exposing his stomach. They massage their way across his abdomen, sliding across the surface with gentle hot friction, getting closer and closer to Sam’s waistline before scurrying away to safer regions on his sides just above his hips.

He can feel the dull tips of Castiel’s nails scrape across his stomach and the thin muscle covering his hips, leaving tiny red scratches destined to fade away too quickly. Cas is using one too many ways to stimulate him, and it’s driving Sam insane.

“Fuck, Cas,” Sam hisses as Cas lightly kisses his hairline bordering the base of his neck.

He feels hot all over. There’s an unbelievable amount of heat pooling in the bottom of his stomach, and Castiel is a pillar of heat behind him, setting his back ablaze. It’s all becoming too much, too overwhelming, too quickly.

Castiel can tell that he is getting close because Sam speeds up, breathing quickly while his hips roll into his fist, now wet and slick with precome. He can hear Cas whisper things into his ear, and it’s probably something good except he can’t quite focus on the words when there’s hot air blowing against his neck with every syllable.

Sam full-on moans Castiel’s name when he comes, his orgasm pulsing through him as he comes all over his fist and boxers. There’s stars behind his eyelids and Sam melts back into Castiel’s warm and waiting embrace.

“Holy fuck,” is all Sam can manage to say, still a little winded from the overwhelming experience. Castiel wraps his arms around him tightly and kisses the crown of his head, lingering there and savoring the moment before speaking.

“Is this an acceptable compromise?” Castiel asks, looking eagerly to Sam for approval.

“Hell yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> Holy smokes, I'm finished. My second Big Bang for the year and I'm very proud of it. A million thanks to the brilliant artist dustandhalos (on tumblr) who drew beautiful art for this fic and my beta setherfan91. This fanfic is very dear to me and hits very close to home and I am glad that I am able to share it. I hope you enjoyed it and please leave a comment with your thoughts. :)
> 
> Come visit me on Tumblr (GhostGarrison) and my artist's Tumblr (dustandhalos).
> 
> CRITICISM (constructive or otherwise) IS NOT WANTED. This fic is very old.


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